


Want

by essexcole



Category: South Park
Genre: Angst, M/M, Multi, Romance, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexcole/pseuds/essexcole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A recently deceased Tweek has returned from the grave with a mysterious "task" that appears to involve Craig Tucker. Angst/romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's the Same Old Game

It had been a month since Tweek Tweak had killed himself. People were finally starting to talk about other things again, which made life a hell of a lot easier on Craig Tucker.

Everyone had known about Tweek’s huge crush on Craig. They had been friends back in middle school, sure, but then Tweek switched teams and Craig ditched him. It was stupid, almost, the way the hyperactive guy would get all shy around Craig, trying to sit near him in classes, attempting to start up conversations at lunch—even going so far as to “discreetly” tail him in the hallways. (The problem with this plan was that absolutely nothing about Tweek was discreet—his shock of blonde hair, his random outbursts of “Gah!”  or some other form of surprise, the spastic way he twitched around, and the lingering scent of Colombian coffee made him obscenely ostentatious.) Craig wasn’t interested in any way—he didn’t want any guy to have those kinds of feelings for him, ever. But Tweek didn’t give up. Sometimes, he even invited Craig to swing by Harbucks, the franchise coffee joint his parents owned and which Tweek worked at. Despite the fact that he refused every time, Tweek never gave up. And that was annoying.

Amazingly, Tweek kept trying all the way through junior year. Craig treated him like dirt every day, sneering at his tics, rolling his eyes when Tweek spoke, even pushing him into the lockers once or twice with the other guys from football when they were in bad moods (Token and Clyde never took part in this, but they were the only withholders). But Tweek never gave up hope. He pretended he didn’t like Craig, but it was obvious to everyone else, and he suffered for it. Yet for some reason, Tweek had fallen head over heels for the asshole that was Craig. And Craig didn’t give a shit, taking the crush completely for granted. Taking Tweek’s resilience for granted.

But on the fifth day of senior year, Tweek hadn’t shown up to school. Craig had thought it was great, finally having a day where he didn’t get shit from the guys about how much Tweek loved him (they even went so far as to sing an altered version of the chorus to Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” loudly in the cafeteria once). Craig felt free, walking the halls without the creepy feeling of eyes glued to his back—sometimes even lower than his back, Craig shuddered to think. It was a good day.

Until he got home and found that it was all over the news about the tragic suicide of a South Park teenager. He was only seventeen years old. He had slit his wrists about twenty times on each arm, leaving only a love letter addressed to Craig Tucker.

At school, he heard the whispers. Most of the girls were crying and hugging each other, which Craig found funny, since they had picked on Tweek too. But the guys were all about the whispering, watching Craig intently as he went through his school day. He didn’t know if they thought he was going to burst into tears or what, but it was awkward.

Only one girl was different. She had pulled him aside, smirking, saying, “Want to go out sometime? I hear you’re to die for.” And she was serious. Surprising himself, Craig had told the bitch to shut the fuck up. Luckily, Cartman didn’t try to get funny about it, because Craig wouldn’t have known whether to laugh or to punch him in the face.

In fifth period, he was called down to guidance. The counselor, an annoying bitch, had handed him Tweek’s note and asked if he wanted to talk about it. When he said no, she told him he could go home. It was pouring rain outside, and Craig snorted at how fucking cliché the whole thing was. His words got a little more colourful when his truck refused to start and he had to walk home.

He had stuffed Tweek’s letter in the dresser drawer he never used along with other useless papers and tried to forget about it. He didn’t want to know what it said.

* * *

“Craig, we’re meeting tomorrow to work on the project, right?” Craig nodded in Jason’s direction and headed for the door. He wanted to get home as quickly as possible; there was a Red Racer marathon starting soon and even as a high school senior Craig had not given up on his guilty pleasure TV show.

When he did get home, he kicked off his shoes and ran up to his room in his socks to dump his backpack. He tossed the bag on his bed and was about to go back for the stairs when he noticed two pieces of paper taped to the side of the door facing the interior of his room. Assuming it was a note from his mother, he paused to glance it over, but froze when he realized it was the letter from Tweek.

“What the fuck?” he questioned his door, ripping the papers down before he could read any of the words on them. He fully intended to question his bitch of a sister when she got home from dance or gymnastics or horseback riding or whatever the hell kind of lessons she was taking. He headed over to his dresser to put the pages back where they belonged, but he couldn’t help but to notice that someone had written, “ **How come you never read my letter?** ” across the top of the first page.

Craig frowned. Creepily, this new addition was written in Tweek’s oddly neat cursive. This was one hell of a prank Ruby was playing on him, and despite himself, he was getting kind of weirded out.

He shook himself a little and continued to his dresser, where he opened the bottom drawer and tossed it back in. The little brat would get hers later.

Rushing back downstairs, Craig leapt onto the sofa, scrambling for the remote to turn on the television. The first episode of the marathon had already started, but luckily, he had seen each episode about a million times already.

His phone vibrated on his lap just as he had gotten comfortable and he frowned as he opened the text message. It was from Nellie, and it read, “ **I can't believe you!! >:(**.” Assuming she was referring to how she had caught Craig cheating on her, he opted not to respond, turning his attention back to Red Racer.

He was bothered by how everyone assumed he was a heartless asshole. Sure, he had been one, once upon a time, but the truth was, he had grown up a little in sophomore year.

Girls liked Craig. They always had. But he never knew what to do when he wasn’t interested.

So Craig dated everyone. And Craig allowed himself to be caught cheating by everyone. Sooner or later, he figured, the girls would figure it out—hopefully they’d interpret it as sensitivity rather than cowardice, because chicks only dug the former—but until then, Craig was constantly thrown into relationships he didn’t want.

All he ever wanted was to get his high school diploma, get out of South Park, and ultimately, disappear. He didn’t need any people.

And the way Clyde and Token had treated him after Tweek…passed away, was surprising. They had always called Craig out on being too harsh with him when all he’d ever done was try to shake the kid off. Craig had already tried being nice. Tweek was a creepy loser who had stalked him like a fangirl stalks One Direction (what the fuck was so special about them anyway?). He wasn’t going to give up. But Clyde and Token kept preaching on even after the spaz was dead about how Craig needed to come to terms with himself and give _Tweek_ closure (uh, yeah. How the hell was he supposed to do that, right?).

Why had everyone acted like his suicide was all Craig’s fault? It wasn’t. Anyone else would have taken the hints and found a new crush. But innocent, dorky little Tweek didn’t know the rules. Or if he did, he didn’t follow them. When you get rejected in front of everyone, you’re supposed to get embarrassed, lay low for a while, then get over it. Not…keep trying. That was all wrong.

Craig shook his head, trying to clear it of his thoughts about Tweek. He turned back to the television and got back into the show straight away.

* * *

 

He woke up around one in the morning on the couch. He had slept through the entire day, apparently. He groggily got himself up off the couch and started for the stairs, wanting to get to his own bed.

At the top of the stairs, a frightening feeling of foreboding chilled Craig to the core, and he actually stood still for a moment, shivering. It was unexpected, inexplicable, and only momentary, and it succeeded in scaring the shit out of him. He took a step towards his door once the shock of fright was gone and again felt weirdly terrified, but he decided to go in anyway. It was _his_ room. He knew there was nothing scary in it.

Craig’s hand took the doorknob and twisted it unnecessarily slowly, but he then threw the door open and boldly stepped into his room.

Wait—

“Hi, Craig.”

Craig turned, shocked, all the way to his left. There in front of him was Tweak Tweek, cross-legged, sitting on Craig’s bed with an unreadable expression.

His image was faded- his light skin tone was even paler than it had been; his stunning blonde hair was now a sort of Easter yellow. His azure tee-shirt and faded blue jeans seemed awkwardly lighter than they ought to be, as though Craig was viewing them through a sheet of Saran wrap. He also noticed that Tweek’s outline seemed to be quivering erratically although the boy was standing still.

Too shocked to answer, Craig simply stared at him lamely. Tweek shook his head and slid off the bed, his face still void of any emotion. “Do you still hate me? Is that why you won’t answer? I said, ‘hi, Craig.”

Craig knew then that he was going to throw up, and he ran out of his room into the bathroom next to it. He proceeded to hurl his guts out. When he was finished, he stood up and, after flushing the toilet, grabbed his toothbrush and began scrubbing the bile out of his mouth.

“I bet you were all excited that I couldn’t follow you anymore.”

Craig looked up after spitting out the excess toothpaste and stared at Tweek, who was leaning against the doorway. “But I’m here now,” he continued when Craig again did not speak. “And now you can’t get rid of me.”

There was a long silence before Craig finally asked what he’d been dying to ask: “You’re a hallucination, right?”

Tweek shook his head, never taking his eyes off Craig, never changing his expression. “No. I’m back.”

“What does that mean?” Craig was pretty sure this was a dream, but he played along anyway.

“It means that even hell couldn’t keep me away,” Tweek said softly.

“So you’re a ghost?”

“I guess.” Tweek’s tone stayed alarmingly neutral, which was extremely creepy.

Gulping a little, Craig countered, “But you still look like you. Before you, uh…” His voice trailed off, but Tweek got the message.

“Do I?” he asked dully. His questions sounded almost like statements what with their lack of tone.

But the truth was, he didn’t. The shaky outline of his discoloured appearance wouldn’t have made any sense on a living human. Craig fervently wished that he would wake up already. “I guess not,” he admitted, looking straight into the mirror in front of him. After a few moments with no response, he spat out, “Why aren’t you twitching.” A demand.

“I can’t.” Tweek never moved from his position, leaning into the right of the doorframe. “I’m dead.”

“No, you’re not!” Craig yelled suddenly, spinning around to glare at the apparition. “If you’re here, then you’re alive, or I’m dreaming! I’m fucking dreaming…” Out of breath from the volume of his outburst, Craig resigned to staring angrily into the faded blue eyes of the boy who may be a dream or who may be Tweek, breathing heavily.

Surprisingly, Tweek’s gaze did not falter as it once would have. “You’re disappointed, aren’t you?” he asked, tone still unchanging.

Recovering slightly, Craig growled, “About _what_?”

“You thought I was gone for good.” Tweek did look away at this, glancing into the hallway behind him, making sure Craig hadn’t woken anyone up. “But now I’m here. And you’re scared, and you’re ashamed that you’re scared. And you really wish I would leave, or that you would wake up. But in your heart of hearts, you know that neither of those things are going to happen, and you’re disappointed in yourself for not being in charge of everything like you usually are.” He finished with his eyes locked back on Craig’s.

Craig faltered. “I…I don’t believe in ghosts. You’re a dream.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, why the hell would you be back!? To _haunt_ me? Is this because I wasn’t _gay for you_ , Tweek? Is that why you’ve decided to screw with my dreaming? Son of a bitch, Tweek,” he chuckled bitterly, “I thought you _loved_ me.”

Tweek’s outline began to waver a little bit more noticeably. “I do,” he said, eyes traveling to the floor.

“Not ‘ _did_?’” Craig challenged.

Shrugging, Tweek looked back up. “I can’t help it,” he said.

Despite himself, Craig froze.

“And it isn’t a dream,” Tweek added.

“Go to hell,” Craig whispered lowly.

“I did, thanks to you,” Tweek answered. “You should stop using that insult.”

Sparked again with random rage, Craig surged forward, fist at the ready, and swung a right hook into Tweek’s face.

But the problem was, it actually went _into Tweek’s face_. And Craig yelled in surprise at the cold that enveloped his hand and his arm. Freezing, sweeping, agonizing cold. Temperature: Absolute Zero.

The corner of Tweek’s mouth twitched slightly as Craig stumbled into the hallway, cursing in fear and anger. Turning, he said—still in his creepy monotone—“Now are you convinced?” A pause. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Craig snarled, rubbing at his hand and forearm. They were still uncomfortably cool in contrast to the rest of his body.

“That you can’t punch me,” Tweek clarified. “If I could fix it, I would.”

“Oh, really?” hissed Craig. “Why?”

“Because I’d do anything for you.”

“ _Then go away!!_ ”

“I can’t.”

Craig glared at him for a minute before wrenching open his door and stomping inside, allowing Tweek to follow before slamming it shut. He turned and walked over to his bed, sitting on it, and waiting for Tweek to accompany him. “Explain,” he commanded once Tweek had sat cross-legged again, facing him. “How are you here?”

“I was put here.”

“By?” Craig asked, still grumpy, and still unnerved at the entire situation. He still sort of thought he was dreaming.

“The Devil.” Tweek’s lack of tone had never seemed more sinister.

Coughing to cover his unpleasant surprise, Craig inquired, “Why?”

Tweek shrugged. “I have a task to complete. And I can’t leave until it’s done.”

“What is it?” Craig asked, anger departing. He was slightly embarrassed by his sudden interest, but the ghost didn’t seem to notice.

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I _can’t_.”

“Um…Can you tell me what it’s about?”

“Not really. But it’s supposed to make me happy.” Tweek looked down.  “Satan likes me, I guess. Or pities me.”

“Is that common?” Craig asked, trying to imagine the Devil caring about somebody.

“No.” Tweek’s eyes were on his feet, the toes of which he was wiggling. “He feels bad for me because I’m like this all the time.”

Frowning, Craig said, “I thought the lack of facial expression or…tone of voice was because you were dead. Not everyone in hell is like that, then?”

“No.”

This answer depressed Craig despite himself, and he suddenly realized again that he was speaking to a phantom. Creeped out, he said, “I need to go to bed.”

“Okay.” Tweek didn’t move, and Craig felt awkward. “I have to stay here,” Tweek continued, feeling Craig’s annoyed eyes on him.

“That’s convenient,” Craig snorted, remembering again that Tweek was madly in love with him even after death. “Do you ‘have to stay here’ when I’m changing, too? Showering? Working out?”

Tweek’s shoulders hunched and he watched Craig stand up. “No,” he said again, but in a tiny voice.  “But at night, I do.”

“Get the fuck out of my room. I don’t need to be watched by a stalker while I’m sleeping, dead or alive,” Craig sneered. “I bet you’re still a little pervert fanboy, even as a ghost. I bet it’d give you a real _thrill_ , having an excuse to watch me sleep all night, every night. But I’m _not_ interested, and I never was!” Craig ended by flipping Tweek off. “Go somewhere else!”

Still slumped, Tweek said quietly, “I’ll leave. I’ll have to be back early, so your parents and sister don’t see me, but I’ll leave. On one condition.” He waited for Craig’s nod, then said, “Read my letter.”

Craig chuckled meanly. “Sure, Tweek. I’ll read your gay little letter. But you need to get out. _Now_.” Tweek obliged, sliding off Craig’s bed and trudging obediently out through the door—literally.

He hadn’t planned on actually doing it, but something inside of him forced Craig to his dresser. He slid open the bottom drawer and extracted the faded pages of loose-leaf, moving to sit on his bed with it. It all felt wrong, but at the same time, Craig couldn’t stop. He began to read:

_Dear Craig,_

_Each day for three years now, I have watched you, hoping and praying that one day you would love me the way I love you. You probably think I don’t know you don’t care about me, but believe me, you’ve made it plenty obvious. What you don’t understand is why that never changed anything._

_Even though you hate me, the rest of the guys in our group didn’t used to, so we have hung out. And we were actually best friends, so I know who you are. And that’s how I know you don’t understand what love is. It isn’t just lust or want. It’s connection and it’s need. Don’t pretend you’ve forgotten how it used to be. We were always together back in middle school, and I realized then we were soulmates. Maybe you did too, but I doubt it, since most people aren’t so resistant to fate._

_I love you. I’ve always loved you. Your eyes are so beautiful, and I could to stare into them for hours on end. Your skin is soft, smooth and unmarred, and I want desperately to run my hand down your face, to kiss you just once so you would see. To run my hands through your hair... If only you would allow yourself to hold me close, to let me tell you my deepest fears—and you would comfort me as you do in my dreams. You have no idea how hard it is for me to write this, knowing that you hate me so much. Since I know that nothing I want from you is possible, I spend my days wishing that one day you’ll turn a new leaf and decide to tolerate me, if only out of pity._

_But you only torture me now. You have been since high school began. I can’t take another year of your silence. I don’t care what the other guys do or say to me, but I can’t bear your hatred any longer._

_So I leave this world defeated and heartbroken—but still completely in love with you. I hope only that you might find it in your heart to attend my funeral…and also that my death will prove to you that this wasn’t just a stupid crush. This was love. Such is love’s transgression._

_With love, of course,_

_Tweek Tweak (Please don’t forget me.)_

 


	2. I Can't Destroy What Isn't There

Craig awoke the next morning hunched in the fetal position on his bed. He reluctantly slid out from under the covers and got some clothes together before leaving the room to shower.

It wasn’t until he was under the blast of hot water that he remembered the events of the preceding night and, despite himself, he looked around quickly for the image of the ghostly boy (despite the fact that the shower curtain blocked his view anyway). He finished his shower quickly and hurried to get dressed, just in case the specter was lurking after all.

But he saw no one. No one in the bathroom, no one in his room, no one in the kitchen…

No one but himself in the entire house.

Craig laughed to himself when he got to the kitchen again after his thorough sweep of the house. His parents were at work, his sister had gotten on her bus, and Tweek had been a dream. Fixing himself breakfast, he grinned at the thought of last night’s stupidity on his part—of course he had been seeing things. He’d spent his whole day watching Red Racer, after all—must have fucked with his head. It all made sense.

Realizing he was probably going to be late if he didn’t leave soon, Craig grabbed his backpack and opened the back door onto the porch. He shut the door and started for the stairs to get to his driveway, but froze when he noticed a certain someone leaning against the exterior wall of his house next to the door. “Bye,” Tweek said. When Craig simply blinked stupidly, he added, “Have a good day at school.”

Face rapidly paling, Craig backed up a few steps, then turned and ran down the stairs and to his car. There was nothing to say.

***

“Craig!”

Craig turned to see Bridon, a smiley idiot of a junior, running towards him. “Hey,” he said breathlessly when he caught up the irritated Craig. “I’ve been calling you for like five minutes. Listen, man, I’m throwing a party tomorrow and—”

“No.”

Bridon paused, looking up at Craig, who had a good six inches on him, for a minute. “No, you see, my parents are going out of town to see _Rent_ on Broadway,” he elaborated, walking quickly to keep up with Craig’s long strides. “They won’t be back until Monday.”

“Good,” Craig snorted, thinking of Bridon’s father’s abusive tendencies.

Encouraged—and not getting the reason Craig had said this—Bridon nodded excitedly about a million times. “Yeah! So, uh, I was hoping you would come.”

“No,” Craig repeated, upping his pace a little to try to shake the kid off.

“Aw, come on!” Bridon whined, having to jog to keep up now. “All the other guys from the team are coming!”

Rolling his eyes at the little bastard’s persistence, Craig said, “I don’t believe you.”

Bridon frowned. “Well, uh yeah, I might be exaggerating. But Butters is coming, and, uh—”

“Butters is the kicker,” Craig said, smiling despite himself. The “party” was definitely going to be lame, all right. It wasn’t that Bridon was unpopular; it was simply that he threw lame parties. As a personal rule, in order for Craig to attend a party, he had to know that it would involve the Three As:  Alcohol, Acid, and hot Ass. And Bridon’s parties never included any of the three.

“So? He’s still on the team! Look, Craig—”

But Craig shook his head, stopping in front of his first period class. “Sorry, dude,” he said, smiling again. “Just give up with these things. Just accept that Token is the party king, okay?” He ruffled Bridon’s hair obnoxiously before turning into US History 2, laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asked Clyde as Craig sat down next to him. (Lucky for them, Mrs. Voigt always set seating arrangements alphabetically by first name, so they got to sit beside each other.)

“Bridon,” Craig explained. “He was trying to get me to go—”

“To the party,” Clyde finished, also snickering at Bridon’s expense. “He needs to stop trying.”

“Yeah,” Cartman butted in from Clyde’s left—he had reasoned with the teacher that no one ever called him “Eric”—as he sat down. “He tried to sucker me into going and I was all ‘Hell no.’”

Clyde and Craig made eye contact and simultaneously rolled their eyes as the bell rang.

***

Calculus, Health, and AP Lit were all shitty classes, and Craig was relieved when seventh period finally came around. Best of all, Mr. Benoit announced that it was dodgeball day and split the class in half. “Don’t hit each other in the face” was the only rule besides the basics, which made the class extremely easy to get through.

First, Craig made sure to aim at the hot chicks—they always giggled and squeaked and tried to jump away, which made their hair flounce and their boobs bounce, just the way Craig liked to see. But next, it was the classic egotistical guys’ brawl that made the goth kids roll their eyes and the nerds shriek and hide in the back of the gym.

Craig was the star center on the football team and had been the pitcher for varsity baseball since sophomore year. He had a pretty damn good arm—which made him prime real estate for the makings of a dodgeball team. And he got into the game as much as any other guy.

Consequently, by the time they were permitted to go to the locker rooms and change, about half the guys on the other team had bruises of some sort. And Craig was smiling like an idiot.

When the bell rang, Jason caught up to him outside the locker room. “Hey, did you hear?” he asked in lieu of a proper greeting.

“Hear about what?” Craig asked as they began walking toward the doors to the parking lot. Sensing the slight anxiety in Jason’s pause to answer, he rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“You know how my dad’s on the school board?” Jason asked. He waited for Craig to nod before continuing, “I heard him telling my mom that they want to do something for Tweek. Like, a memorial assembly or something.” He let that set in.

Craig’s stomach wrenched and he stopped short, just in front of the doors. “Uh, is something wrong?” Jason asked nervously, watching Craig’s expression.

“I don’t think we can work on the project today after all,” Craig said finally.

“Craig—”

“No. I just, uh, remembered something I gotta do.” Craig pushed open the doors and ran out to his car, not waiting for Jason to respond.

He wasn’t quite sure why the thought of a memorial service unnerved him so badly, but it did. Craig thought it over as he began the drive home, rolling down the window and turning up his music the way he always did. Perhaps it was because the lovesick ghost of the boy in question had decided to start haunting him.

Finally reaching his house, Craig got out of his car and slammed the door, eyeing the building before him skeptically. Was afraid to go inside? Yeah, maybe. Who wouldn’t be?

After a minute, Craig told himself to grow some cojones and just go the fuck inside. It was his house, after all. It wasn’t like Tweek had any real right to be there.

And he only barely believed what was happening to him, anyway. He’d never believed in ghosts. That was the type of thing that Stan’s old group was into, not _him_. Not blunt-and-sensible Craig. It wasn’t fair.

He’d never asked for Tweek to go gay for him.

He’d never asked for Tweek to kill himself, either.

And he’d certainly never asked for Tweek to _come back_.

Albeit tentatively, Craig opened the door to his house and took the first step inside. A first look around the kitchen told him Tweek wasn’t there, leading him to believe that he would find him waiting in his bedroom. Great.

But Craig was suddenly determined to find some answers now. He resolutely walked through his house, climbed up his stairs, and swung open the door to his room.

Sure enough, there was Tweek on his bed again, cross-legged as always. “Hi,” he said, watching his toes wiggle as he had the night before. “How was your day?”

“Fine, how was yours,” Craig replied sarcastically.

It went over Tweek’s head. “Shitty,” he said truthfully.

Craig shook his head and sat across from Tweek. He could tell this position was going to become a custom between them. “Well, I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you.”

“Did you read my letter?”

Craig blinked at the random question. “Yes,” he said. “Now, I want to know—”

“Did you like it?”

Now Craig frowned impatiently. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Don’t change the subject. I need to know some basic things about you.” He paused a moment, waiting for Tweek to look up, but it didn’t happen, so he continued on. “First of all. Why are you here?”

“I told you that already.” Tweek stopped wiggling his toes, instead holding a hand up to about his chest and wiggling the fingers. “I have a task to complete.”

“Why did you word it like that?” Craig asked, hoping he was on to something.

But Tweek only shrugged. “I didn’t know how else to word it.”

 _Okay_ , Craig thought. _That makes sense enough._ “Would ‘mission’ work?” he asked curiously.

“Sure, I guess.”

“All right. Next question.  What is this ‘task?’”

“I can’t tell you,” Tweek said. “You’ve asked this stuff already.”

Craig was about to reply, but found himself temporarily mesmerized by Tweek’s shifting outline—it was as though the boy was a cartoon, outlined badly in pen. In life, all the coffee the poor boy had been forced to drink had given him the reputation of a cocaine addict with all of his twitching and shaking. But as a ghost, twitching was impossible, Craig figured. Instead, the faded blonde’s outlines simply quivered at a varied pace. Craig wondered what exactly determined how fast it went.

Shaking himself to refocus, Craig said distractedly, “Uh, yeah, but uh, you… You never gave me direct answers. And if you’re going to be haunting me, I think I deserve to know exactly what’s going on with you. Doesn’t that make sense?”

Tweek looked up slowly, his lifeless eyes peering into Craig’s brown ones. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s not just curiosity, you know—”

“No,” Tweek stopped him. “It’s…You think I’m haunting you?”

Craig sat in confusion. “Well, what would _you_ call it?”

“I don’t know.” Tweek seemed to sort of shrink into himself as crossed his arms tightly across his stomach. “But that sounds…horrible.”

This almost made Craig feel guilty. “Er—you’re a ghost,” he reasoned. “And you’ve told me you refuse to leave me alone. Isn’t that haunting?”

“I thought haunting was supposed to be sinister.”

“This is sinister!” Craig yelled. “You appear in the middle of the night to tell me—with no tone in your voice and no expression on your fucking face—that Satan has given you some sort of secret mission and, _coincidentally_ , you aren’t allowed to leave _me_! Don’t I have a right to be freaked out!?”

Silence hung in the air and Craig realized what he had said. It must have come straight from his subconscious because it hadn’t even occurred to Craig before that Tweek’s mysterious “task” may have something to do with him.

“You really want me out of here, don’t you,” Tweek said simply.

Craig looked away. “You’re _dead_.”

“How is it,” Tweek seemed to be musing, in his unaffected voice, “that I kill myself over you—to prove that I loved you, to prove that I lived for you—and yet, you still waste no pity on me?”

With a big gulp, Craig said, “I never said I wasn’t sorry.”

“You never said you were, either.” Tweek closed his eyes in what may have been shame, though it was impossible to tell. “You have no idea what it’s like to be dead. You have no idea what it’s like to be _in hell_. I had spoken to Kenny. He told me what it was like. But I decided that life without you was worse than death. You spent each year of high school picking on me, ridiculing me, trying to make everyone else hate me the way you did—but that wasn’t enough. Now that I’m here, you _still_ hate me. I had hoped it would be different, but it’s not. But now, I _can’t_ give up. I _can’t_ make myself disappear. I have to deal with your revulsion again. And…” Tweek’s eyes opened again, although they were not pointed at Craig. “It isn’t fair.”

Craig was speechless. Not only did the lack of tone make the dialogue creepy, it made Craig feel like complete shit. “I don’t…I don’t hate you,” he said quietly.

“Yes, you do. You did while I was alive and you do now.”

“I don’t!” Craig insisted. “Maybe I did. Back then. But now, I don’t—I just—I don’t understand, is all. I mean, why can’t you tell me what you’re doing here!? Why did Satan pity you, send you back!? Why did you kill yourself in the first place, what made you like me!? And what finally made you snap!? And why can’t you say something in a FUCKING TONE FOR ONCE!!??” Craig’s voice rose into a screech and he sat up straight with his last words, staring at Tweek, trying to get him to change instantly with the urgency of his gaze.

“I try to,” Tweek whispered, putting Craig in his place again. “And you said you read my letter, so you ought to know that I love you because I _have_ to. It’s fate. I _finally_ killed myself the fifth day of senior year just because I couldn’t stand it anymore. And I’m sorry if you’re angry with me for being here, but there really isn’t anything I can do about it.”

Tweek’s unintended calm helped to ease Craig’s sudden temper back to a point of civility. After a moment’s quiet, he breathed, “Sorry. I just don’t understand…Well. Anything.”

 Looking down again, Tweek said, “I guess you don’t have to, really.”

Craig sat back impatiently. “But I…” Shit. What was it he wanted to say? “I… Tweek, I’m sorry. About all the stupid shit I did to you. It wasn’t right and I’m the biggest asshole ever. I didn’t realize what it was doing to you.”

“That’s what I told myself,” Tweek said, which made Craig fidget uncomfortably.

“Told yourself what? That I’m the biggest asshole ever or that it didn’t occur to me what effect I had on you?”

There was a very faint sound of air moving, and Craig realized that this was the equivalent of a ghostly snort. “Definitely the second one.”

Still uncomfortable, Craig cleared his throat. “Well…I hope you can accept my apology. And since you can’t leave here…Let’s be, uhm. Friends?”

Tweek’s eyes slowly rolled upwards to stare blankly into Craig’s, and the latter wished fervently that there was _some_ way to get a facial reaction—of any kind!—out of the former. “Okay,” he said finally. And Craig prayed that some good would come out of this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Sick of All the Insinceres

“Good. So, uh, since we’re friends. How about you tell me all you know, without me having to ask the questions?”

Tweek kept staring at Craig for a while with his creepy lifeless eyes before eventually responding. “When I died, I went to hell. It’s horrible. All that ‘lake of fire’ stuff is true…I guess I’m not supposed to say much about it, though.” He glanced at a spot over Craig’s shoulder for a long moment, causing Craig to turn and look. Before he could ask what the hell they were staring at, however, Tweek went on. “Instead of screaming in pain or whatever, though, I just kind of…was there. I took it. I didn’t pay attention to anything. I just sat there twitching, apparently.”

“They serve coffee in hell?” Craig asked in genuine confusion.

Tweek looked back at Craig. “No.”

“Oh,” Craig said self-consciously under Tweek’s dull gaze. “Uh, sorry.”

“Satan kept coming up to me…Trying to talk to me. But I never said anything. Until two days ago, when he sat down next to me and demanded that I tell him why I had killed myself.”  Tweek paused a minute, surveying Craig, then went on. “I told him the whole story. He knows all about you.”

There was another pause, during which Craig paled and went sort of limp and wide-eyed. “Is that, uh—”

“No, it’s fine. He likes you.”

Whether this was good or bad for Craig was left unsaid.

“Anyway, he just started talking a lot about Saddam Hussein…I didn’t really know why; I wasn’t listening to most of it. But then he just said he understood me, and stuff. And then…we made a sort of deal.”

If it was possible for Craig to get any paler, he did it. “You made a deal with the Devil!?” he yelled.

“Yes,” Tweek said, blinking. “Not a bad one, though. You can’t sell your soul if you’re already in hell.”

Craig found this fairly logical, and nodded slowly, though he was still creeped out. “And the ‘deal’ and the ‘task’ are the same thing?”

“Yes,” Tweek repeated. “So he sent me down here. And I’m not supposed to leave, because if someone sees me, that could ruin everything.”

As if on cue, Craig heard the noises of someone coming up the stairs, stopping at his door. He held his breath as his sister knocked, calling, “CRAIG! Get your ass downstairs, we’re gonna get ice cream.”

Craig looked away from the door at Tweek, whose face had also been turned towards the door, listening. His eyes were jerked back to the door in horror, however, when the little bitch came barging in without any warning. “Ruby!” he yelled, looking in terror at Tweek—

Who wasn’t there?

“What?” his little sister sneered. “Did I catch you jerking off?”

Craig promptly flipped her off, and she happily returned the gesture. “If you’re not down in five minutes, we’re leaving without you,” she informed him nastily.

“Go ahead,” Craig said in annoyance, flipping off her retreating figure.

When the door had closed again, Craig was extremely surprised to find Tweek sitting before him again. “How the hell did you do that!?” he yelled, half irritated, half terrified.

“I don’t have to be tangible,” Tweek said, and his monotone in this context sounded very patronizing indeed. “I went through the mattress.”

“Uh…oh,” Craig said stupidly. _Duh_ , he thought.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tweek said, and Craig felt slightly more embarrassed that Tweek had noticed his embarrassment.

“What would you do if someone saw you?” he asked suddenly, satisfied that he had found a question that could stem a new conversation.

Tweek was silent for a long time, and Craig was about to repeat his question when it was answered: “I guess whoever it was would think they were insane. So nothing.”

Great. Another conversation gone, well… dead. “Stop doing that,” Craig frowned.

“Doing what?”

“Killing conversations! I’m trying to talk to you, but you turn everything I say into a dead end.” Craig hunched over. “We’re _friends_ now, remember? Talk to me like a friend,” he grumbled.

Again, Tweek went quiet. “Sorry,” he said a minute later. “It’s just…I don’t really remember. What it was like talking to you, I mean.”

Craig gave an encouraging grin. “We used to be best friends, remember? If we could talk then, we can talk now.”

“You’re only being nice to me because you feel guilty, though.”

“Am not.” Craig stuck out his tongue childishly. “We’re friends. And—”

“You’re not nice to your friends.”

Shutting his eyes in surrender a moment, Craig said, “I’m only a dick when they’re being annoying. I can’t help it if that’s how they are most of the time.”

Tweek watched him closely. “I must have annoyed you a lot.”

“Yep. But you’re not annoying me now, so maybe you should learn to take what you can get.” Craig wiggled his eyebrows. “Talk while I’m still feeling nice.”

It was a long time before Tweek had a noticeable reaction. When he did, it took the form of him stretching out his ghostly arms a bit before folding them in his lap and nodding. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

But Craig’s eyes were suddenly glued to Tweek’s arms. “Wait—you still have…” he coughed and almost choked on his own surprise and horror. His stomach was again filled with the rapid need to throw up, and it was all he could do just to keep still.

“What?” Tweek asked. He looked down at his arms, then back at Craig. “What’s wrong?”

“Scars,” Craig managed to choke out.

Now Tweek blinked and looked downwards, turning his forearms outwards, displaying again the multiple slits on the pale surfaces. “Of course I still have them,” he said. “Where would they have gone?”

He was not immediately given a response; Craig was busy focusing in terror on the wounds. “But—those are from…?”

“When I killed myself. Yes.”  Tweek peered at Craig, tone and expression betraying no emotion but, somehow, emitting curiosity. “Why are you so surprised? What made you think I wouldn’t have the scars anymore?”

Craig sat back and bit down on his quivering lip. “I just wasn’t expecting…” he stammered guiltily, unable to finish yet another sentence.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry.” Tweek looked down again, rubbing his right thumb absentmindedly over the scars on his left wrist. “I probably should have hid them. I didn’t realize they’d be so traumatic for you.”

“…If you were able to talk like a normal person—would that have sounded bitter?” Craig asked nervously. He didn’t want to piss off a ghost, and he suddenly wondered if Tweek’s cause of death was a touchy subject.

But apparently, it wasn’t. “No, not at all.”

“And that wouldn’t have been sarcastic?”

“ _No_ ,” Tweek said. “You already know I don’t blame you for anything. And the fact of the matter is, no one wants to see a bunch of brutal scars on someone. Especially a ghost, I guess.” He turned his forearms inwards again, hiding any marks that there were.

“Why don’t you blame me?” Craig asked quietly, still somewhat unnerved.

Tweek’s shoulders seemed to slump slightly, and Craig guessed that he had sighed. “Haven’t we been over this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Tell me anyway.”

Tweek looked up to stare Craig straight in the eyes. “Because I love you.” He shrugged. “You must have heard that enough from me by now. You never wanted to hear it before.”

“I didn’t realize that keeping it in was slowly destroying you before.” The corners of Craig’s lips turned upwards slightly. “If we’re gonna be friends, we’ve got to be able to say what’s on our minds.  So. What’s on your mind—” he snapped his fingers—“right now?”

“How beautiful you look when you smile like that.”

This plain truth was so blatant that Craig shifted uncomfortably. “Uh…What else?” he asked, hoping that he wasn’t actually blushing furiously the way he thought he was.

“Nothing else.” Tweek sat back. “Except that I like when you blush, too.” Dammit. “How about you?” he asked.

“Er…I was thinking about how embarrassing it is that I always blush whenever someone mentions anything about my appearance.” Craig rolled his eyes at himself. “I mean, I don’t even really care. But I always blush anyways.”

“That’s funny.”

“Wow, Tweek, way to say it like you mean it,” Craig joked, but he thought this over. “Yeah,” he mused eventually. “I guess it would be, for someone else.” He let silence hang for a moment before asking, “Okay, what are you thinking _now_?”

“That I like talking to you. And that you act a lot differently at school than you do at home.”

With a shrug, Craig said, “I don’t, really. I just talk to _you_ different, I guess.”

Cocking his head slightly, Tweek questioned, “Why?”

Since he really didn’t know the answer to this question, it took Craig another long minute’s thought before he was able to reply. “…Because I don’t have to put a show on for you, I guess.” Tweek made a noise like he didn’t understand, so Craig continued on. “At school, the only thing that really concerns me is getting through it alive. Having friends keeps me happy, so I do what I can to keep _my_ friends. Which means messing around, acting like a douchebag, and being a three-sport athlete. But you gave up on that a long time ago…in like, eighth grade you just let yourself be the weird one. And we didn’t mind.” He paused to smile in remembrance. “But now…you’re not even a part of this world anymore. You were totally isolated for three years—except for getting harassed and picked on, anyway—and you’re obviously completely unimpressed with my bullshit by now. So there’s no point in being an asshole around you; there’s no one to watch.”

With more blinking—Craig was starting to get used to it—Tweek said simply, “It’s cool that you can admit that now.”

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Craig laughed, shrugging. “It’s the same thing everyone else is doing. Just…no one ever called me out.”

“I wasn’t doing that.”

“… _Well_ ,” Craig emphasized, gesturing awkwardly in the faded blonde’s direction. The air suddenly felt tense.

Tweek nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said quietly, and Craig got the impression that his companion had suddenly realized what he’d said.

“Sorry,” Craig mumbled, swallowing. “But it is really a compliment…You’re the only one who gets to see how I really am.” He offered a silly grin.

“That’s a shame. I bet most people would like you anyway.”

Craig shifted. “But I don’t want to risk it. It’s not even important, right?”

“Maybe not.” Tweek looked around. “Not that it’s my place to say.”

“I kind of wish you would be mad at me,” Craig said suddenly, furrowing his brows and leaning onto his knees. “I ruined your life.”

“No, you didn’t. Stop saying that.”

“We were so mean to you!” the brunette exclaimed. “Every day you got made fun of. Just because you liked me. That’s not fair.”

Tweek looked back to Craig, his faded eyes still apparently unconcerned with everything Craig was saying. “I’m over it.”

“Don’t be.” Craig thought a minute. “Wait. No! You’re lying. You’re not over it, because if you were, you would look and sound like you were actually feeling something. You’re a big fat liar!”

“I’m really not,” Tweek said, scratching his nose. “I do forgive you. For everything. I never really blamed you for any of it, as I’ve probably already said. It’s not your fault I killed myself.  Just keep in mind that I only recently got out of _hell_.”

Craig froze, leaning back again. “Oh, yeah…” he said sheepishly.

Tweek just rolled his eyes.

* * *

The next few days went by slowly. He spent the night at Token’s on Saturday with Clyde and Kenny, but all they did was the standard video-games-and-pizza routine that happened at pretty much all sleepovers. He had actually spent much of the time thinking of Tweek, wondering what the ghost was doing for his “task” while Craig was away.

The two spoke every day—Craig found himself becoming more and more interested in what Tweek had to say. It was a shame, he often mused, that Tweek’s affections had blinded him throughout high school, for they probably would have had a fucking blast together.

On Monday two weeks later, in AP Lit, Ms. Wong was rambling on about how Shakespeare’s characters had depth. Craig wasn’t really listening—it was embarrassing enough being in the class, not to mention he was passing—but soon he was given a spark of inspiration.

Wendy Testaburger, a kiss-ass by nature, raised her hand and said sweetly, “I agree. We can see it in Juliet, especially—her obedient personality obviously overruled any of her other traits when the play began, but once she has fallen in love with Romeo, she begins to go against her father and even the Nurse. Juliet is _obviously_ a character with real _substance_.”

As Ms. Wong praised Wendy’s contribution, Craig was mimicking the way she had said “substance” in his thoughts. But this caused his mind to wander off into space over the word, as he wasn’t interested in the topic at hand.

Tweek didn’t have any substance, he thought. Well, as a human with a certain character, of course he did. But physically. There was that time he had simply floated through the bed…

But how was it that he sat there, otherwise, speaking to Craig? It had become a tradition—a reflex, almost—between them: Craig would come home, and, when he felt like it, he would go up to Tweek. (Usually, this was sooner than later, but it differed due to football practices and lack of a Hulu subscription.) They would always sit cross-legged on his bed, facing each other. The two never sat any different way.

How did Tweek sit, though? Craig wondered. When the ghost had first appeared, Craig had tried to sock him in the jaw. But his hand went right through…And yet, Tweek was able to sit comfortably. He never fell through, and he wasn’t floating, as Craig had always imagined a specter would.

These thoughts troubled Craig all day; even Clyde and Token noticed something was up. He dismissed it as nothing to them, though—obviously they wouldn’t understand, not to mention the fact that Craig himself did not quite get why the idea intrigued him so much.

When Craig got home from school, he raced up to his room to see Tweek. “I’ve been thinking,” he said breathlessly as he entered the room.

“About what?” Tweek asked.

“Well,” said Craig, taking his usual position across from Tweek, “about you. Of course. But I wanted to know…Why is it that sometimes you’re substantial, and sometimes you’re not?” He gestured. “You’re sitting on my bed right now. How can you do that, but then walk through walls? Or the time I tried to punch you…” Craig chuckled. “ _That_ certainly didn’t work. So what differentiates the times you’re substantial from the times you’re _in_ substantial?”

“Me,” said the ghost. His tone sounded bored, but Craig told himself it was the _lack_ of tone that made it sound that way. “I decide when I want to be solid. But no matter what, I can’t touch or be touched by people.”

“Oh,” Craig said. He decided that this made sense. “…So no matter what, if I tried to touch you, my hand would _always_ go right through you?”

“Yes.”

“And if _you_ tried to touch _me_ —same thing?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” Craig thought a minute, then inquired, “How come it was so _cold_?”

Tweek blinked a minute, probably trying to figure out what Craig was talking about. “…You mean when you tried to hit me? Because I’m dead, probably.” He watched Craig shudder and added, “Not in a corpse kind of way. But…I’m not supposed to be here. Be…a ghost, I mean. After death, you’re not _supposed_ to ever come back. You could say that I’m not even allowed to be here. But I returned from the worst place imaginable…to Earth. So your hand will go through me because I’m not living, not on Earth. But it will feel cold because I’m on Earth anyway.”

This was a lot for Tweek to say, and Craig sat back, surprised. “That was a really good explanation,” he said thoughtfully.

Tweek shrugged. “I’d figured you would ask sooner or later.”

“So,” Craig started up again, armed with a new question, “your monotone. Is that because you’re dead, too?”

“No, it’s a result of extreme depression.”

“Because you still missed me after you died.”

“Enough to break the Devil’s heart.”

This made Craig pause guiltily, but he quickly moved on. “But you’re here now,” he said. “With me. And I’m talking to you, and you’re talking to me. So why be depressed anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Tweek said. “That’s just the way it is.”

“No,” Craig said, rejecting the idea that he was going to have to listen to Tweek’s dull voice for the entirety of the boy’s time on Earth. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“You can’t,” Tweek told him.

“Yes, I can,” Craig insisted playfully. “I’ll just make you happier.” He thought a minute. “Would it help if I told you that, if you were material, I would give you the biggest hug ever? So big, you’d get all the way warm again. And I’d say sorry a million times for ever hurting you, and I bet it would make you smile really big.”

Tweek hesitated. “That wouldn’t be like you at all,” he said.

“Not how I am at school, no. We already talked about that. But it’s what I wanna do. For serious.”  The brunette stretched out his arms as far as he could, width-wise, then hugged himself tightly. “If only, if only,” he sang.

It looked for a moment as though Tweek was going to smile, but it passed. “No offense, but that’s hard to believe,” he said.

“Yeah, I bet it is. But surprise! It’s true. If you wanna try, you can come here and I’ll try to hug you, even if I’d get all cold.”

“Enough to freeze your own blood, eventually,” said Tweek.

“I don’t care, if it makes you feel better.”

And to Craig’s surprise, with this simple statement, Tweek’s face burst into a brilliant, beaming smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. I Won't Let You Choke

Craig went to school the next day with a considerable spring in his step. For whatever reason—perhaps that Tweek could actually express emotion now—he had woken up in a great mood, ready to take on the day.

“What, d’you get laid last night?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Craig turned to Clyde, who had appeared beside him. “No…?” he answered, slightly confused. “Did you?”

“No. But when you’re happy, you usually look bored, and otherwise you just look pissed because I’m pretty sure that’s your only other mood. So I came to the conclusion that maybe you finally lost your virginity.”

Craig rolled his eyes at this, and Clyde flushed. “Oh,” he said, clearly embarrassed. “To who?”

“I don’t know. But she had green eyes and brown hair that smelled like coconut.”

“That sounds suspiciously like Clyde,” mused Token, coming out of nowhere to walk on Craig’s other side.

Craig scowled. “If I’m not mistaken, it was _you_ who lost your virginity to Clyde,” he snapped, and Token choked on the soda he’d been drinking.

“ _What_?” he screeched, glaring at Clyde.

Clyde looked up from the football he was holding. “He was kidding,” he said to clarify, and the dark-skinned boy seemed to calm down.

“The fuck was that about?” Craig snickered as they turned into social studies class.

Shrugging, Clyde took his seat. “I have no idea.”

With a grin, Craig elbowed his friend teasingly. “Really? You’d let me know if you two were fooling around, right?”

Clyde made a face. “Craig, we aren’t fucking queers.”

“Dude!”

“Sorry,” Clyde winced, remembering Craig’s distaste for homophobia after Tweek’s death. “…Uh, yeah. I’d tell you.”

* * *

 

“And so the penis—” _Snicker._ “—and the testicles—” _Snicker, snicker._ “—will take up a huge portion of the test—oh, for goodness’ sake! Mr. Tucker! Mr. Donovan? Would you care to share with the class _exactly what is so funny_?”

“You said ‘penis,’” Craig said unashamedly, meeting the eyes of their health teacher.

“And ‘testicles,’” added Clyde. The whole class began to giggle around the room, and Mrs. Dutton glared around at no one in particular.

“Honestly!” she exclaimed. “Most of you are _seniors_! Would it kill you all to grow up a little bit?”

“No,” said Craig. “But my sides might split if you say ‘scrotum.’”

The bell rang, and Clyde and Craig bolted for the door, away from the detentions they probably would have received. “That was close!” laughed Clyde as they stopped by the water fountain to catch their breath. “I thought her eyes were going to turn into lasers or something and fry our asses.”

“You mean _buttocks_ , young man,” Craig said, imitating their teacher’s scratchy voice. As the two proceeded to nearly die laughing, a certain girl strutted by.

“What an _asshole_ ,” Nellie said loudly to Bebe as they passed the boys. “I’m prettier than that whore Red any day.”

“Of course you are, honey,” Bebe said sweetly, pausing. “Uh, I’m going to take a drink. Meet you in sewing class?”

“Kay. Love you!” Nellie said, glaring once more at Craig before continuing down the hall.

After fluffing her hair up a little bit, Bebe glided over to where Craig and Clyde were talking. “Hey Craig,” she said seductively, lowering the books she’d had pressed to her chest to give him a better view. “You seem happy today.”

“Uh huh,” Craig said, giving her boobs a once-over before looking into her eyes. “What do you want?”

She smiled. “What makes you think I… _want_ something?” she breathed.

“Girls with tits that huge always want something!” crowed Clyde.

Craig high-fived him, but Bebe didn’t seem to find this funny. “Hm, Clyde. It sure is a mystery why we broke up, isn’t it?” she snarled.

Rolling his eyes, Clyde decided to give the girl her time. “Fine. I’m out,” he said, fake-reluctantly. “Craig, be in class on time or I’ll call the cops. You’ve got your rape whistle, right?” He raised his eyebrows at the blonde and cackled as he walked away.

“What an immature excuse for a guy,” Bebe said disdainfully. “I’m so happy _you’re_ not like that.”

“Huh?  Yes I am,” Craig said, wrinkling his brow. “Clyde learned all his jokes from me.”

“…Oh.”

“So what _is_ this about?”

Sighing, Bebe twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Today, you seem really confident. I like that.”

“The bell’s gonna ring.”

“Fine,” Bebe scowled. “I’ll make this quick. Take me out tonight. Pick me up at seven.” She flipped her hair and flounced away, disappearing right as the bell rang.

* * *

 

“You’re going out with _who_?”

“Bebe. I guess.” Craig’s face turned thoughtful as he drew a picture of a cartoon walrus on his English homework.

Token raised an eyebrow. “You guess?”

“I don’t think I had a choice, really.”

“Does Clyde know?”

“Eh,” Craig said, drawing in flippers. “He was there for most of the surprise attack, so I’m sure he knew it was coming.”

Sitting back, Token bit his lip. “That’s fine, then, I suppose. As long as it doesn’t bother him. I don’t want anything to get fucked up between you two.”

“It’s not. It won’t be.” Craig finished with the tusks and added, “This isn’t even serious. I hate that girl.”

“Then why did you say yes?”

“She ran away before I could say no, dude!”

Eyes narrowing, Token said, “Then don’t show up!”

“I can’t do that! That’s fucking rude.” Craig looked up at his friend. “What’s your deal, man? I’m just gonna buy her dinner, tell her I hate her, and finish her fries when she storms out. Clyde won’t give a fuck. He knows me.”

With a sigh, Token wearily agreed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Class started then, and Craig didn’t have a chance to inquire further. He simply watched as Token sipped at the espresso he’d mysteriously managed to sneak in, and wondered if maybe his other best friend had a point.

* * *

 

“Heard about your hot date tonight.”

Craig turned away from his truck, which he had just thrown his bag into. “Jealous?” he joked.

Clyde laughed, shaking his head as he went around to the other side of the car, also tossing in his books and inviting himself to a ride home. “Dude,” he said, as Craig got in and began to drive. “She is the worst date ever. I swear, she takes half an hour to ‘decide what to order,’ when she’s actually secretly waiting for you to say you’re gonna order something she likes too so that she can ask to share it—God forbid you say no, by the way—and then she’ll take two bites and just drink diet Coke the entire rest of the night. And since she’s not eating, she’ll talk and talk and talk, basically shitting on all of her friends. And sometimes your friends. And sometimes you.” He chuckled reminiscently while Craig flipped off the driver behind them. “Oh, and she might ask you questions, too, since it’s the first date.”

“And only date,” Craig interrupted. “SUCK MY BALLS, BROFLOVSKI!” he fired out the window. “Fucking tailgater!”

“But she’ll ask while you’re chewing. The only one chewing, by the way, so you feel totally self-conscious. And then you try to answer the question so you can take another bite of your damn fettuccini alfredo but, surprise! She’s got a million follow-up questions based on what you answer. Like she’s trying to have a conversation, except she’s too slutty and stupid so all of her questions are superficial and sometimes irrelevant.”

_HONK!_ “Serves you right, dumbass! You want to tailgate? Welcome to the 15-miles-per-hour zone!” Craig yelled out the window at Kyle, middle finger in action the whole time. “He’s not getting the picture, Clyde. What do you think? Brake check time?”

Clyde facepalmed. “ _You’re_ not getting the picture, man. You’re making a mistake.”

“Dude. I don’t want to go out with her. It’s a one-time thing. I’m just going to piss her off and get out of there, okay?” Craig slammed on the brakes and got honked at again, but he had his magic finger out already. “Does this upset you or something?”

With a sigh, Clyde shook his head. “But that’s my point, man. It’s not that easy! There were so many times I tried to make a quick getaway by insulting her, but she doesn’t even understand any meanness—beyond her own brand, anyway. So the only way to really get under her skin is to either call her fat or a whore. And if you do that, she’ll tell all her friends and then the entire community of girls in our school will hate you. You can’t win!”

“…If this really does bother you, though, tell me. I’ll just call her and tell her bros before hos.”

“Nah. I’m just lookin’ out for you, man.”

Craig nodded, brake-checking Kyle once more before turning onto Clyde’s street. “Thanks, dude.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. I'll Prove I'm All You Want

“You look kinda nervous.”

Craig paused upon hearing Tweek’s comment, having just walked into the room. “Do I?” he asked. “How so?”

Tweek shrugged, and Craig joined him on the bed, facing him as always. “You just seem as though you’re anxious about something that’s going to happen,” the faded blonde continued. “Is something going on?”

“I appreciate how you actually sound like you’re asking something now,” Craig told him, trying to stall. For some reason, he found himself not wanting to divulge any information about his plans.

“Thanks. Answer the question.”

Craig found himself stifling a laugh at Tweek’s quirked eyebrow. “Okay, detective,” he said. “Yes. I have a date tonight. With Bebe.”

To his dismay, Tweek’s face fell. “What?” he asked, his voice pitiful.

Craig swallowed. “She attacked me in the hallway today and disappeared before I could say no. According to Clyde, it’s gonna be a drag. I’d planned on insulting her to get out of there quick, but apparently, she’s too dumb to notice when her new toys are mean, so. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” He fought off the strange urge to apologize.

“Oh.” Tweek looked downward and shrank, hunching his shoulders and drawing his legs inward. “I see.”

Guiltily, Craig muttered, “She’s a bitch. It’s a one-time thing.”

“Sure.”

“…” Now Craig frowned. “What, you don’t believe me or something?” he asked, crinkling his nose. “I don’t like her. In any way. At all. You ought to know that.”

Tweek looked away with a grimace. “Neither did Clyde, though, and she had him for—how long? I don’t remember.” He glanced at Craig for a quick second before again looking pointedly away. “I don’t want her to take you over, too. That’s not fair.”

Craig put his left elbow on his knee and leaned on his hand. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” he said. “There are going to be times when girls want to go out with me on dates. That isn’t new.” When Tweek didn’t look back at him, he snapped his fingers in the apparition’s face. He had done this without thinking, and briefly realized it was a stupid sort of thing to do since Tweek was in a different dimension or whatever, but he got the reaction he wanted. “Hey,” he admonished when Tweek looked at him head-on. “This isn’t new. What’s the real problem?”

Tweek wouldn’t answer him, so Craig sighed resignedly and got up. “Fine. Tell me what I should wear, then.”

“Where are you going?”

Craig blinked. “On a date.”

“I _know_. Where _is_ the date taking place?”

Tweek sounded really grumpy, which was slightly irritating, but Craig didn’t push it. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” he admitted. He waited for Tweek to laugh at him, or gape at him, or _something_ , but this did not happen. Instead, Tweek looked up carefully at the ceiling, avoiding Craig’s eyes.

“Jeans,” he said, “but with a dress shirt and a tie.”

Craig wanted Tweek to look at him, but he wouldn’t. “Okay,” he said finally.

* * *

 

“You look really _good_ , Craig,” Bebe giggled from the front seat of his car.

He rolled his eyes as she put a hand on his arm, rubbing a small circle with her thumb. “I like this _jacket_ ,” she said, emphasizing various words for no apparent reason. “Where did _you_... _get_ it from?”

“Dunno,” Craig answered, biting the inside of his cheek. “A store, I suppose.” It had been an innocent question, but her intended-to-be-sultry voice was giving him a headache.

Bebe smiled sweetly. “There’s a little moose, _there_. I guess it’s _Abercrombie_.” Her Cheshire grin intensified. “ _I_ like them, too.”

“Oh.” Craig pulled into the parking lot of Applebee’s and chose a spot close to the door. He didn’t want to spend any more time with this girl than he had to.

“Applebees!” Bebe exclaimed as Craig opened her car door for her. “This is like, my _favourite_ restaurant.”

“Fabulous.” Craig waited for her to grab her purse before he closed the door, then turned abruptly to head toward the entrance. Bebe made a feeble attempt to grab at his hand, but he all but slapped it away. “Tucker,” he said when they reached the inside. It was almost goofy that in this town, you had to make reservations at Applebees, but it was one of the only restaurants around.

“I love this table,” Bebe said once they had been seated at a booth in the corner. “We’re so… _isolated_. We could be doing _anything_ back here.”

Craig bit his lip, resisting the urge to make a snide comment. “Okay,” he said instead. His back was to the wall, leaving him with a wide view of the entire restaurant. He looked out at the crowd of people, some couples, some not. He wondered vaguely if anyone else was as desperate to leave as he was.

“Diet water, please,” Bebe said, surprising Craig into realizing there was a waiter at their table. “And leave out the lemon,” she added.

Craig raised an eyebrow. “Did you just ask for diet water?” he asked. The waiter stifled a snicker.

“Yeah,” the misinformed female drawled, “got to stay fit.” She winked.

“Well. I would like chocolate milk. With whole milk, if you could.” He grinned at the waiter, apparently named Brian, letting him in on the joke. “And do you have twisty straws?” He watched Bebe force a smile with great satisfaction.

“So. I’m glad we came out tonight,” Bebe said encouragingly, putting her carefully manicured hand on top of Craig’s, which he’d lazily set on the table. “I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time.”

Uncomfortably shifting in his seat, Craig drew his hand back to scratch his neck. “Huh,” he said.

Brian dropped off their drinks, smirking good-naturedly as he handed Craig his chocolate milk, complete with a lime green swirly straw. “Do you need more time?” he asked. Bebe quickly nodded, and the waiter left.

Craig began looking out at the other patrons again. He saw Gary, some gay Mormon kid who’d moved back to South Park in the tenth grade, there with Stan and Kyle. Red’s parents were sitting at a table with an old couple, who he assumed were the cheerleader’s grandparents. And with Gregory, Christophe, and Jimmy was…

Craig’s eyes bulged as Tweek turned his head to look directly at Craig. He was about to freak, but after a single blink, Tweek became Butters, who waved gaily.

Heaving a sigh, Craig slouched into his seat. He had been _so_ sure that that was Tweek…What was wrong with him? _Calm down, Craig_ , he told himself. He knew Bebe was talking, but he was too startled to listen— _What the fuck just went down_? he thought anxiously.

“Craig.”

He jumped slightly. “What?” he asked in surprise, his breathing still a bit heavy to be healthy.

“What are you ordering?”

To her credit, Bebe had dropped the act and actually looked genuinely concerned.  “Uh,” Craig breathed. “Grilled cheese. And French fries. And broccoli.” He handed his menu to a confused Brian, blinking a few times to clear his head while Bebe ordered.

“What just happened?” she asked when their waiter had walked away.

“Um. Nothing,” Craig assured her, throwing a glance to the back of Butters’ head.

She hesitated, but then continued babbling, seeming to pick up right where she’d left off. Craig occasionally nodded, slipping back into a calm. He must have imagined seeing Tweek.

Looking out around the restaurant again, Craig noticed Annie there with Andy Summers. He was a sophomore, right? Why would they be…

_Oh. Shit._

He watched in awe as Tweek walked past Annie and Bridon’s table towards the bathroom. He breathed in sharply as Tweek stopped, then turned around _slowly_ , to stare directly at—

“ _Craig_!” Bebe exclaimed. The suddenness startled Craig into blinking and, sure enough, when he looked up again, Tweek was gone. “What’s _wrong_?” she asked.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. Keep talking.”

The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question, actually,” she said. “You’re pale as that goth chick.” She looked around behind her. “What, did you just see a ghost or something?”

Craig groaned. “No,” he said. “Sorry. What was your question?”

“I asked why you and Nellie broke up. She wouldn’t tell me. I assumed it was because she was being a bitch to you or something, because that’s how _all_ of her relationships end, the poor dear. Or sometimes because she won’t put out. I mean, like, even if she knows she’s gonna get dumped, she won’t do it. It’s like she has no respect for herself.” She surveyed Craig importantly. “Of course, _I_ never have that problem. Anyway, I hear a rumour that you were cheating on her or something. She’s my friend and all, but to be honest, I wouldn’t blame you. She’s not a very good kisser, after all.”

“Grilled cheese?”

Craig looked up to accept his food from Brian, but froze when he saw the blonde figure standing beside the waiter. “Augh!” Craig yelled.

“Craig, baby, what is it?” Bebe asked again, glancing from him to Brian and back, looking frightened. Tweek had vanished. “Did you—”

“I have to go.” Craig stood up, pulling out his wallet. “Here’s forty for dinner and five for the bus. I’m sorry.” He all but ran to the door, leaving a confused Bebe behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. It Was Supposed to Be So Easy

He drove home in a panic. His mind was completely blank other than the repeated phrase “What the fucking fuck?” In his terror, he managed to reach his house within ten minutes.

“Fuck you!” Ruby yelled from the couch when Craig slammed the front door open and shut behind him.  He didn’t bother retaliating as he had something a little more important to do...

He opened his bedroom door quickly and, seeing Tweek sitting on his bed, he screeched, “WHAT THE _FUCK_ WAS THAT!?”

Tweek calmly turned his head as Craig pulled his door closed loudly, earning another muffled interjection from Ruby. “Was it that bad?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“ _Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about_ ,” Craig snarled. “It’s not like I didn’t tell you what was happening. I have every right to go on a date without you _harassing_ me.”

“I didn’t harass you. I told you what to wear and everything.” Tweek blinked. “Is that why you’re back so early? You were steaming about that the whole time?”

Craig’s eyes narrowed and he glared. “I don’t know if you think you’re being cute by playing dumb, but I’m getting more pissed off than I was before. Own up to it. _Why_ did you follow me?”

There was a pause in which Tweek blinked again a few times before answering cautiously. “What do you mean, why did I follow you? I’ve just been sitting here.”

“No. No, you haven’t been,” Craig retorted, pointing his finger in Tweek’s face. “I’m not stupid. I saw you, and you saw me. You were with Jimmy and Christophe. And you went to the bathroom. And you were right next to the waiter...” Craig’s voice trailed off at Tweek’s dumbfounded expression. He halfheartedly jabbed his finger again. “I saw you,” he said again.

“Uh—I don’t know what you mean,” Tweek said uncomfortably. He looked confusedly at Craig. “I went to the bathroom? What?”

“Well...I thought that was where you were going. That general direction. It doesn’t matter. _I saw you_.” Craig crossed his arms, hoping to appear as though he stood firm. In reality, he was kind of confused himself.

Again, Tweek took a moment to answer. Then: “Craig...I didn’t follow you anywhere. I was sitting here the whole time, waiting for you to get back. I swear.” He raised his right hand slowly, monitoring Craig’s reaction.

Craig breathed in and out slowly. Tweek’s expression looked confused enough to be legit, but…It was _so_ him at that restaurant. Or… “Fine,” he said. “I’m sorry. Just forget it.”

“All right.” Tweek watched as Craig sat down on the bed. “So…how was it?”

“She must think I’m a psycho.”

“You saw me?”

Sighing, Craig looked back up at Tweek, who looked genuinely interested. “I guess not. Maybe just someone who looked like you…That must be it.” He fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. “Either that or I’m going crazy.” He could tell Tweek was stifling some kind of expression, and suddenly felt self-conscious. So what if he had seen Tweek? What would that mean?

Tweek murmured, “I don’t think you’re crazy. So there was somebody who looked like me. You’ve been seeing me around a lot. You got mixed up. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“You really think so?” Craig asked. “Because I think she’s going to tell the whole school I’m out of my mind.”

“Maybe you’re overestimating how much Bebe cares.”

Craig paused. “…Wow, Tweek.”

“Sorry.”

“No…You know what? It’s okay. You’re right. It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I care what she or anybody thinks.” Craig smiled slightly to himself. “I guess she wouldn’t be that eager to tell anyone I ran out on her. But…you don’t think I’m crazy?”

Tweek shook his head sincerely. “Nope.”

* * *

 

And indeed, to her credit, Bebe had not shared the details of Craig’s sudden abandonment in an unflattering light. Instead, she had unwittingly given his carefree attitude more credibility. “He was _high_ the entire time,” she could be heard whining emphatically to her squad of friends. “What a jerk! I guess there really isn’t anyone who can get through to that guy. Well, I tried,” she would simper to anyone willing to listen.

“Dude!” Clyde yelled the first time he saw Craig, joining him at his locker. “You did it! You got rid of her in only one try! You’re incredible. And _disgusting_. That’s no way to treat a woman,” he added as Bebe pranced by. When she was gone, he continued, “Lighting up. Brilliant. How come I never thought of it?”

“That’s not what happened,” Craig muttered. Though he appreciated that no one was referring him to a psychologist thanks to Bebe’s account, he would have preferred the whole thing to have been kept quiet.

Clyde snorted. “Then what did? All we know is that you bailed.”

“Yeah. I guess I just left.” Craig leaned against the locker next to his own, staring at his feet. “Do I seem different to you?”

Clyde screwed up his face to stare at Craig. “If I hadn’t already made this joke, I would ask if you had lost your virginity now. What are you talking about?”

Uncomfortable, Craig shrugged. Even though he felt more secure in his sanity, he still felt confused about the night prior. Tweek couldn’t have been there…Except he was. No stranger had that freaky stare that bore right through your bones. But someone else would have noticed the ghost of the dead kid, right? So it was all in Craig’s head. But he _knew_ what he saw…Tweek… “Forget it. Do you know where Jason is?”

“Yeah, locker room. What, you wanna weird him out too?” Clyde waited for a snappy answer, but receiving none, backed away. “I’ll see you in class?”

“Sure.” Suddenly, Craig was sure he had to find Jason. Slamming his locker, he headed off.

* * *

 

“Craig! My man. You here to talk about the project?” Jason asked as Craig approached him. He was sitting on a bench, re-lacing one of his shoes. “Look, I know I’ve kind of been nagging you about it. But it’s due in like two days…Are you okay?”

Only slightly out of breath, Craig affirmed that he was. “I’m sorry about that. Let’s just do the whole thing today, okay?”

Jason nodded. “Alright, sounds good…Was there something else?” he continued, peering at Craig intently.

Craig paused before moving to sit on the bench opposite his classmate. “Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you heard anything else about that memorial service for Tweek. Is that really happening?”

With a hint of discomfort, Jason answered, “I don’t know, dude. I guess the school board is reevaluating it. Something about glorifying suicide. But I told my dad I thought it was a decent idea.” He narrowed his eyes at Craig. “Why? Would that be a problem for you?”

“Of course not.” Craig wondered whether he was imagining the accusatory tone of Jason’s voice. “I just wanted to say, I think it’d be a good idea too. I just feel like we never got any closure as a student body, you know?”

“Uh, yeah.” Surveying Craig with something quite like disdain, Jason went on, “I always wondered if you were ever gonna have any regrets about how all that went down.”

Craig felt his face getting hot. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean, man? What did I do that you didn’t copy?”

Jason leaned back, slowly shifting his shoe from one hand to the other. “Yeah, whatever.”

“No, really. What did I do differently from anybody else? I know two kids who told the rest of us to lay off, and that’s it. You know who they are, and you know you aren’t one of them. So how the fuck do you figure you get to judge me?”

Jason said nothing, simply staring at Craig, who stood up suddenly. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but he knew that what he _wanted_ to do would easily earn him a suspension. Luckily, the bell rang, and he watched Jason slowly get up, putting his gear away and picking up his backpack. Craig glared at him as he left.

Was that really what people thought? That Craig was the only one guilty of anything? Fuck, he would have just ignored Tweek’s crush if the guys hadn’t ripped on him for it…

Right?

Thoroughly bothered, Craig allowed his breathing to steady before even looking toward the exit. As the late bell rang, he swore and headed for class.

* * *

 

“Am I the only one who made you want to kill yourself?”

Tweek stared as Craig burst into the room. “What?”

Craig blinked at him, his breathing again too heavy, and he swallowed. “Exactly what I said. Was I the only one who was mean to you, do you think? Like if you had to, say, name anyone…” he trailed off as he felt the question getting more and more insensitive. “Sorry,” he offered. “I just wanted to know.”

“You look really upset.”

This was a fair observation—Craig was just returning from spending the most aggravating two hours of his life finishing a psychology project with Jason after an already-grueling football practice. Four hours of feeling constantly judged by everyone, even if Jason was the only one who had ever insinuated anything. “Whatever. If you don’t mind, can you answer the question? It’s okay if you don’t want to, though,” he finished quickly.

The bewilderment never left Tweek’s face, but to his credit, he answered. “Uh…no. I guess not.” He watched as Craig joined him on the bed. “I mean, I knew everyone thought I was weird. But that was more frustrating than anything else. The only opinion I really cared about was yours. Why do you look like that?”

Craig felt his stomach churn. He wondered if he was just blushing again or if the heat in his brain meant a fever. As sick as he had felt at the news of Tweek’s death, he had never really been anything more than uncomfortable about it. The whispers about him, the glares from those nobody kids who probably didn’t even know half the story—they put Craig at a disease from which he had slowly recovered over the past month. But never before had it honestly occurred to him that he truly was to _blame_. “God,” he choked out, noticing the lump in his throat too late.

“What? Are you okay?” Tweek leaned closer and Craig put his head down, trying to remain calm. His room was too hot—no, _he_ was too hot. His vision started blurring into TV static. It was getting harder and harder to breathe normally. He clenched his fists and found they were sweaty. Was he going to pass out? What was this?

“Craig, calm down. You’re having a panic attack.”

A what? Tweek’s voice sounded distant, as if there were a partition between them. He tried again to make one, any of his senses work right and failed. His eyelids were drooping and he fought to keep them open. “So it’s… It’s my…”

“Don’t talk. Just try to breathe.”

Craig, still staring downwards, made out one of his feet through the haze and noticed it was shaking. He stared at it, concentrating. Slowly, his breathing began to steady and the ringing in his ears dissipated. Before he knew it, he was sitting still again, soaked in sweat. He chanced a glance up at Tweek, whose outline was somehow more erratic than ever. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tweek’s face made no secret of his concern. “Don’t apologize to me for that.”

“Sorry,” Craig echoed anyway, and he uncrossed his legs, standing unsteadily. He wandered over to his dresser and pulled out a new shirt to replace the now-slimy one he’d been wearing. After changing, he leaned on the open drawer. He still felt unsteady.

“You’re shaking. I want to hold you up but I can’t,” came Tweek’s voice. Craig heard the pain in it and turned his head to see Tweek, too, was standing, his face screwed up with worry. Feeling guiltier than ever, Craig eased off the dresser and turned all the way around.

“I’m okay,” he said. Hoping to resume normalcy, he walked back to the bed and climbed up. “What did you say that was called?”

Tweek looked hesitant, but he followed Craig’s action. “A panic attack,” he said. “I used to have them all the time.”

“Wait—that’s not why—the shaking? Were you constantly, uh…”

“No. What you’re thinking of is all the coffee I drank.”

It was awkwardly funny, but neither boy smiled. Craig cleared his throat, wishing fervently for water. He avoided Tweek’s gaze, wishing none of this had happened. Finally, Tweek spoke first. “Why did you ask me about the other kids at school?”

Heaving a sigh, Craig thought about what to say. It all seemed so stupid and insensitive to ask. Selfish, too. What answer had he been hoping for? “J—one of the guys made a comment about how I should have regrets about…about you dying. Like…that it was my fault, I guess.” He was still having trouble looking Tweek in the eye, but managed it, searching for any type of reaction. Seeing nothing, he swallowed. “I guess…I had never really realized, exactly, that I really am the only reason…That it really was my fault.” Receiving no immediate response, he quickly went on. “It’s not that I never felt bad that you were dead, but just that I never really felt…guilty, before,” he finished lamely.

Tweek continued to stare and it was like Craig was thirteen again, trying to talk his way out of a detention with the sternest teacher at school. His face was warm again—fuck, could he get some water?—and he rushed to think of something else to say that would make him seem like less of a terrible person. Unfortunately, this seemed impossible, and he looked away in shame.

“Please…Don’t ever blame yourself for what I did,” Tweek finally said, and Craig was startled by the firmness of his voice. Looking back again, Tweek’s face was completely inscrutable, but something about the way he had spoken was crushingly sad. “The only thing that ever hurt me was the idea that I was causing _you_ pain. _I_ chose to get rid of myself, but it wasn’t your fault. Not at all. Never your fault. Please don’t ever say something like that again.”

“I… I didn’t mean to upset you or imply…I was just asking,” Craig said, unsure of how to fix the situation. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Tweek asserted. “I’m glad you did, because now you know. And you should also know that if I ever find out who made that comment to you, I will find a way to kill him, too.”

Startled, Craig muttered, “I’m sure he had the best intentions—“

“I don’t care what he had. I only had one friend, Craig. One person who ever gave me the time of day. And I know he isn’t the one who got all high and mighty on you, so whoever said it was either completely uninvolved or one of the guys pushing me around every day, even when you weren’t around. And if one of _those guys_ for even a second tried to make you feel small, there’s no way I would let him get away with it.” This last sentence was delivered in a matter-of-fact tone that somehow made the whole threat more ominous. Craig pondered for a moment whether he should be worried for Jason, but quickly remembered that Tweek was somehow bound to his house for whatever reason. Still.

“Can you please just forget it?” Craig asked. “Let’s talk about something else. You know, they’re thinking of having a memorial service for you.”

Tweek looked extremely confused by this piece of information, and Craig felt he had rather successfully changed subjects. Nonetheless, Tweek’s words were still on repeat in his thoughts. Wasn’t your fault. Never your fault. But…wasn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this chapter forward, you will notice some changes in style, lexicon, and chapter length. This portion of the story is written by the author five years after the first five chapters. As I've grown, my writing has improved and my imagination has expanded. I hope you enjoy the difference as much as I do!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Offer Me That Deathless Death

An assembly was announced the next morning at school, and Craig figured that was it. The office receptionist didn’t specify the topic at hand, but since Park County High never had assemblies, the intent seemed clear. It would be held the next day, a Friday, and classes would be shortened to make the time.

“What’s that about, do you think?” asked Token, sipping from his travel mug.

“They probably just have to tell the girls to stop leaving tampons lying around in the bathroom again,” grimaced Clyde, and the group had a collective shudder.

Carefully, Craig mumbled, “Jason said they might do something…like, about Tweek.” His friends stared at him, Token’s gaze a puzzled one and Clyde simply gaping. Craig sank in his seat, immediately regretting saying anything. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”

 “Uh…you really think they would do that?” asked Clyde, who looked a bit stupid with his mouth hanging open.

“ _Can_ they do that?” wondered Token. “I thought since they hadn’t really said anything up until now, they were just going to pretend nothing had happened. That’s how most schools handle it these days, as far as I know. Trying not to glorify suicide or whatever.”

Clyde shut his mouth and thought for a moment. “To be fair, though, South Park has never really been like anywhere else.”

With a slow nod, Token said, “That’s true.” Looking back at Craig, he asked, “What do you think, man? Are you going to go?”

For some reason, this question irritated Craig. “Of course I’m going to go. Why wouldn’t I?”

Quickly, Clyde interceded, “He just meant that it might be a little awkward, dude. I mean, people already kinda stare at you.”

“So?” asked Craig defiantly. “They can’t make me feel any worse than I already do by staring at me.” He looked around at his friends, who were staring back with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “What, you think I shouldn’t go? Or you thought I didn’t care?”

“Neither,” said Token, with a glance to Clyde that really kind of meant “ _Both._ ”

* * *

 

Craig had trouble sleeping that night. He hadn’t mentioned the definiteness of the assembly to Tweek that day, knowing that the conversation would just be awkward—even more so than the one in homeroom with Token and Clyde, which had soured his entire day. Suddenly, Craig was seeing everyone in a whole new light—or rather, realizing that everyone he knew had probably been seeing him differently ever since Tweek had died. Jason, fine. Jason had always thought he was better than everyone anyway, so his opinion really wasn’t that important in perspective. Clyde and Token, though…What were they really thinking? Sure, they had never joined in ripping on Tweek, but they had never told Craig to stop, either. Well, he guessed that maybe they had suggested it, now that he thought about it. But still.

He gnashed his teeth. If they had felt this way all along, maybe they could have said something about it. Why was everyone ambushing him now, a month later? He remembered the day after the announcement of Tweek’s death, going to school in spite of his mom telling him to stay home. He had expected to be yelled at, even punched. Exiled, if nothing else. Craig had been ready for the worst; in fact, the only reason he had gone to school was that he thought getting told off by his two best friends would somehow make him feel better. He had wanted to be punished. But Token and Clyde had just asked how he was doing. Token had even patted his shoulder, and that was the last they had said about it in school.

So why now? Why wait to put Craig in his place? If not for the assembly, would they ever have said anything? All this time, he hadn’t even known anything was wrong. He felt disgusting. If only everything could just go back to normal. If only they knew that Tweek had forgiven him, and spent every day in Craig’s room…

Fumbling for his phone, he checked the time. 3 AM. Nice. Waking up for school would be fun—if he ever even got to sleep in the first place, which didn’t seem likely. He swallowed and quickly noticed the dryness of his throat. Sliding out of bed, he headed for the bathroom.

“You’re still awake?”

Craig started and looked down. Tweek was sitting on the floor outside of his room, leaning against the wall. Like a faithful dog, Craig thought at first, then inwardly scolded himself for being a dick. “Uh, yeah,” he whispered. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?”

Tweek had been asking this question all day, and Craig had denied anything being out of the ordinary every time it came up. He hated sharing stuff like this, especially after the reaction Tweek had had to Jason’s accusations. Now, at this hour, though, Craig was tempted to give it up. Maybe it would help him sleep better.

Moving around Tweek, Craig stepped into the bathroom and ran the sink for a few seconds, splashing water into his mouth and on his face. “Come inside,” he told Tweek, standing again in front of his own door. He waited for Tweek to get up, avoiding his concerned expression. Dammit, could this kid stop caring about him so much?

He closed the door and got back into bed, assuming the usual cross-legged position. Tweek, however, simply perched on the edge. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“You know how I told you there’s an assembly tomorrow?” Craig started. “Well, Clyde and Token kinda suggested that I shouldn’t go. And they were surprised that I did want to go. Like, they thought I didn’t care. This whole time, they thought I didn’t care.” Craig checked for a reaction. “I mean, most people’s opinions of me mean nothing. But Clyde and Token mean a lot.”

Tweek finally looked around at Craig. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’m sure that’s not what they meant.”

Surprised, Craig blinked. “How do you figure? You weren’t there,” he added pathetically.

“They know you. They know you’re not heartless or anything. They were probably just worried that it would be awkward for you or something. Don’t take it the wrong way. They worry about you a lot, too.” Tweek stretched his arms out and folded them on his lap. “Get back under the covers. You should be sleeping.”

Craig paused, still confused. “How do you know they worry about me?” Tweek looked pointedly at the blankets and Craig obediently lifted them over his legs. “What, do you visit them at school? I thought you had to stay here all day.”

Tweek tilted his head and absentmindedly grabbed the edge of Craig’s comforter, pulling it further up over his friend. “I do stay here all day. But they worried about you long before I died. They care about you. And caring about you can be hard. You don’t really show a lot of emotion. No one knows what you’re thinking.”

“Well then, what were they worried about me for?”

“You act out when you’re not doing so great,” Tweek said with a soft smile. “The way you talk, the way you behave, the way you avoid certain people when you’re feeling down. You never talk about what’s going on in your life, but your friends can tell. They actually thought you might try to hurt yourself someday.”

Very taken aback, Craig gaped at Tweek. “What? Why? And how do you know this?”

“I know about you because I’ve known you for a very long time. And I know about them because they told me. One time during junior year, they came into my dad’s store while I was working. We were kind of talking a little bit, about the old days, and they said that sometimes they felt like they couldn’t read you…the way I could,” Tweek finished nervously. “If they said you shouldn’t go to some dumb assembly about me, they probably just meant that there might be a lot of ignorant people being awful and blaming you there. They don’t know about this, right now.” He gestured toward Craig. “They don’t mean any harm, they just love you. Please go to sleep. It’s late.” Tweek got off the bed and headed toward the door. Reaching it, he paused. “Go if you want to go,” he said, “but don’t feel like you have to. And don’t get upset at your friends.”

“Wait,” Craig called.

Turning his head, Tweek leaned against the frame. “What?”

“Thank you,” Craig said, and he dramatically snuggled into bed, smiling when he saw Tweek laugh.

* * *

 

Clyde and Token had approached Craig somewhat nervously the next day, but Craig decided to act like nothing had happened. After all, they were the only two people who he really ever wanted to be around. There was no sense in alienating his best friends. Plus, Tweek had urged him to be nice.

So it was together that they entered the gymnasium at the end of the school day. Having had to wait for Clyde to finish venting about something that had happened in English class that day, the group barely arrived on time, and were stuck with the loser seats in the second row of the bleachers. “At least we’ll get out of here faster,” Token commented.

The principal, Mrs. Rhodes, was standing in the center of the gym with a microphone, watching as the last few groups of students poured into the gym. Her expression was stony without being grim, and Craig was now sure that this was about Tweek. He silently agreed with Token about the good fortune of their seating arrangements.

Once everyone had sat down, Mrs. Rhodes began to speak. “Good afternoon, students. I hope you’ve had a day full of learning and exploring. I know you must have been disappointed to cut that learning short for this assembly.” She paused as some good-natured students chuckled. The principal wasn’t bad, honestly—most of the kids respected her. Probably because she wasn’t from South Park. She continued: “Anyway, we’ve called you in today to discuss what we’ve been trying to find the right way to speak to you about. As you all know, on September fifth” –Craig’s stomach clenched—“we were all unfortunate to lose a classmate, a student, and a friend. I know we’re all still mourning the tragic loss of Tweek Tweak.”

Mumbling filled the room, and Mrs. Rhodes paused again. Craig saw Token glancing at him from the corner of his eye and slouched, pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt. Okay, yeah, this was awkward. Still, he was glad he had come. “I know you’ve all been curious about what I’ll be speaking about today. Honestly, we, the administration and faculty, just wanted to make sure we can keep the channels of communication open between you and us when it comes to this difficult matter.

“’Suicide isn’t the answer’—you’ve all heard this before. I know I don’t have to repeat it. But I want to explain _why_ it isn’t the answer. First of all, we have an incredible guidance department at our school. Additionally, every teacher on our staff cares deeply about every single one of you students. If you are ever experiencing troubling thoughts and feel you have no one to turn to, remember this first. You are all important to us, and you all deserve to be heard, especially during difficult times. Finally, I want to remind you all how young you are. High school seems like the most important thing in the world, but I _promise_ that there is a world beyond this.” She gestured around the gymnasium. “I’m not saying your problems aren’t important. They are, and I-we- all want to help you work through them. But just keep in mind that this isn’t all there is to life. There are so many beautiful experiences to have after graduation, and they will happen for you even if you fail a class, have acne, or…if things don’t work out with the boy or girl you like.”

The mumbling resumed immediately, and loudly, and Mrs. Rhodes froze, apparently realizing that this last example may have been poorly chosen. Craig felt his face get warmer. “The fuck,” Clyde said in disbelief.

Craig saw Token looking around and moved to follow his gaze, but he suddenly felt his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “Keep your hood up,” he instructed, and Craig looked pointedly forward. This was exactly what he had been dreading, and exactly what his friends had warned him about. _Fuck_. Why hadn’t he listened? Inwardly, he chastised himself. He also felt bad for Token and Clyde—they were probably getting ogled at, too.

“Can I have your attention, please, students?” asked Mrs. Rhodes meekly. “I’d like to move on to celebrate the life of our friend Tweek, and perhaps…” her voice trailed off as the students’ conversations grew louder. Craig heard snippets ranging from, “Is that him over there?” to “Shit, bet that kid feels like an asshole right about now.” Clyde was still muttering to himself about “what kind of a chicken-shit assembly did these idiots think they were fucking planning…”

“Do you want to go?” Token suddenly asked lowly. 

Craig turned to look at him, and in doing so caught a few dozen gazes pointed his way. He felt the weight of 500-or-so kids’ opinions, most of which were formed based on rumors and observations from kids who didn’t even fucking know Tweek in the first place. This was bullshit. “No,” he grumbled, but he rose to his feet, stepping past Butters, who’d been in front of him, to get to the floor. He pulled his hood back down and strode toward the principal. He barely knew what he was doing—no, he had no idea what he was doing—but his feet carried him there anyway, and he felt his eyes boring a hole through Mrs. Rhodes’, as she stood frozen like a deer in headlights.

“Mr. Tucker,” she breathed as he stopped in front of her. He pointed to the microphone, which she was holding away from her mouth.

“Can I have that?” he asked.

Somehow, she gave it to him without protest. As he took it and faced the entire student body, he suddenly felt light-headed. Everyone, predictably, was staring, though the muttering had died down. He broke the silence. “I know how you all probably feel about me, and that most of you probably blame me for Tweek’s death.” He heard Mrs. Rhodes breathe sharply, and he had to resist the urge to flip her off. As if she hadn’t started this? Well, Craig was going to finish it. He took a breath and went on. “And that’s okay if you do, because I kind of blame myself too.” (He resisted the tears welling up in his eyes.) “But I also know that most of you, who are so happy to point the figure at me, also didn’t do anything for Tweek while he was alive. Because he is a really special kid. A kid who always knows exactly what to say when you feel like crap about yourself. And I think all of us, not just me, should be fucking ashamed of ourselves for not appreciating him while he was around. The pain that Tweek went through every day—if I could take that pain, and have that on my shoulders for the rest of my life, I would do it, if it would bring him back. But I can’t. And I’ll have to live with that forever—that knowledge that I failed Tweek. I’m not that person that I was before, because now that I know what kind of person Tweek is, or was, I guess,” he corrected quickly, “I spend every day trying to be the type of person who would deserve a friend like him. And you all should, too.” He gave the microphone back to Mrs. Rhodes and, leaving the student body shocked, headed for the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	8. It Doesn't Matter Where I'm Going

“Craig! Wait.”

Craig was surprised to hear Butters’ voice following him out into the hallway, and he turned to see his classmate round the corner towards the doors. “Butters,” he answered. “Uh, what’s up?”

Butters surveyed Craig for a moment before responding. “You know, you really surprised me just now. With that whole speech.” He offered a small grin. “In a good way, I mean.”

Uncomfortably, Craig peeked at the doors. “Uh, yeah. Well, I’d kind of like to get out of here, if you don’t mind.”

“I’ll come with you,” Butters said determinedly, and Craig shrugged, turning to exit the school. As they left, he continued. “I think Tweek would have been really happy to hear you say what you just did. In front of everybody.”

This sentiment held weight, as Butters had been Tweek’s only real friend for years. Since freshman year, actually. Butters had never really been popular—Craig remembered him being pretty weird back in elementary school—and with Tweek’s exile from Craig’s friend group, the two somehow ended up being buddies by default. On the rare occasions when Tweek wasn’t trailing Craig through the hallways, he could be spotted at the corner table in the library with his friend, hiding an illegal mug of coffee behind a stack of Butters’ books. When the news of Tweek’s death had come out, Butters had become socially relevant in the rumor train for a couple of days: he hadn’t been allowed to miss any classes for grieving purposes, as dictated by his parents. Supposedly, Butters was already getting offers from colleges, which was believable, given that his parents had made him start preparing for applications since middle school. The nerdy kids would swear up and down that Colorado College had offered Butters a full ride. All of which was great, until seniors started reporting seeing Butters sitting solemnly in classes on September sixth with tears pouring down his face.

With this rumor in mind, Craig didn’t know what to say. “I…I’m really sorry,” he tried, heading towards his car.

Butters kept up. “You know, I always kind of wondered how you were taking all of this. Is it…is it true that they showed you his suicide note?”

Reaching his truck, Craig stopped to face Butters. “Yeah,” he said, remembering with shame how he had practically thrown it away. “It was, uh, intense.”

“Exactly,” Butters breathed, rather expectantly. Craig furrowed his brow.

“You read it, too?”

“Of course.”

Nervously, Craig decided to be open. It wouldn’t hurt having a real, live person to share these particular feelings with. “All of that mushy stuff about my face and…and ‘love’s transgression…’ I didn’t really know how to feel about it.”

But instead of nodding or maybe even frowning, Butters simply looked completely bewildered. “What mushy stuff? What are you talking about?”

Confused and somewhat embarrassed, Craig tried again. “I mean, when it was like…something about my eyes? And it ended like…’This is love, such is love’s transgression?’ I only remembered that line because I didn’t really know what it meant,” he finished quickly.

Butters still looked confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was talking about his actual suicide note. The one they found with the body,” he stated.

“Well, was there more than one?”

“No.”

Now Craig was confused. “Two pages, right?” he asked. Butters nodded. “Looseleaf paper? Cursive?”

“Yes and yes, but there wasn’t anything mushy about it.” Butters peered at Craig with interest. “Did he pass you another note that you’re mixing it up with? He did say some mushy stuff sometimes, honestly.” He looked down embarrassedly, tracing the pavement with his foot.

“Maybe,” Craig lied suddenly. He just wanted to know what was going on here. “Actually, Butters, do you know what happened to the note?”

Butters shrugged. “I think they gave it back to his mom. I thought she said she wanted you to have it, but maybe I heard wrong.”

“Thanks,” said Craig, and he heard the school bell ring. Fuck. Time to get out of here. “Look, Butters—if you ever need somebody to talk to, you can find me, okay?” he asked, climbing into his truck as kids’ voices became audible. He started up the car before anyone else could reach the parking lot.

“Okay,” he heard Butters say. The look of excitement on the kid’s face as Craig drove away was heart-wrenching.

***

Though the drive to Tweek’s house must have taken at least fifteen minutes, Craig felt like he had teleported there. All too soon, he was pulling up to the familiar brown house from his younger days. Should he be doing this? Probably not. But look at that, he was already out of the car. He was already at the front steps. He was already knocking on the door. Before he could change his mind, it had opened to reveal the tired-but-kind face of Mrs. Tweak.

“Craig?” she asked quietly, peering at him from around the door. “How are you, son?”

This particular greeting was unanticipated and Craig gulped down his guilt. “Hi, Mrs. Tweak,” he answered. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh? Um…Yes. Yes, of course you can come in. Please.” She opened the door further to admit Craig, and while she closed it, he took a look around.

Nothing much seemed to have changed since Craig’s last visit. The house was decorated the way he imagined the inside of cabins in Aspen looked—wood cabinets and tables, everything in varying shades of brown with some occasional dark red accents. _Cozy_ would be the best word to describe it. Entering into the kitchen, he remembered the three different coffee machines on the counter, always on, and the family photographs on the refrigerator. But once upon a time, the curtains were always open to fill the place with light. Now, they were all pulled tightly shut. The sink was piled to the top with unwashed dishes. A stack of unopened mail sat atop the counter. Looking once more at the fridge, he realized the photographs were joined by dozens of greeting cards. He recognized the one his own mother had sent: “With deepest sympathy,” it read, across a white background with some pathetic-looking rose petals. What a stupid fucking card, he thought. He kicked himself for thinking it: what, had he helped pick out something better? No.

“What brings you here?” asked Mrs. Tweak, pulling Craig back into the present. Despite his initial determination, he felt loath to bring up the note.

“I don’t know,” he said instead. He looked slightly downward at her—was she surprised to find him taller than her, now?—and went on, “There was an assembly today. About...about Tweek, kind of. I was just wondering, uh, if maybe you wanted to talk.”

He felt nervous when she looked back at him with obvious confusion. Quickly, though, it faded away to an expression he couldn’t quite read. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. Sit down, honey. Can I get you some coffee?”

“You sit down,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “I—I’ll get it. Please.”

Surprisingly enough, she obeyed without complaint, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Thank you,” she murmured. “The mugs are—“

“I know,” Craig answered, already picking one out of the cabinet. “The dark roast one?”

“Yes, please. Black is fine.”

After pouring her drink and setting it down carefully, Craig paused when she invited him to sit down. “Actually, can I—let me help you,” he said breathlessly, glancing at the sink. Looking back, he saw she had bleakly followed his gaze.

“Don’t worry about those, Craig. I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll do them.”

But Craig had already sidestepped her chair to get to the sink. He put his hand on her shoulder as he passed. “I want to do it. Just talk to me. How have you been?” Turning on the sink and fishing the sponge out from what seemed like fifty mugs, he waited for her answer.

“Hard, honestly,” she said softly. “And lonely.”

Craig bit his lip as he scrubbed at a stain. “Is Mr. Tweek working?” 

“Oh, yes. Richard is very busy managing Harbucks. He couldn’t get too much time off, you know, since he’s kind of in charge. And, well, I’ve just been here.” Mrs. Tweak paused to take a drink. “It feels like I just don’t have enough to do anymore. Even though the house is a pigsty,” she said ruefully. “But I don’t want to burden you with all this, Craig.”

Shaking his head, Craig paused to turn around. “It’s not a burden. I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to help you.” He wasn’t sure where his words were coming from, but he knew they were sincere. “I should have come sooner. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve missed having you around here, Craig. I was sad when you stopped coming.”

Craig’s stomach clenched and he went back to the dishes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

Mrs. Tweak let out a short, sad laugh. “Don’t worry. I understand why. I know my son could be a little…forward.”

“You knew about that?” Craig asked, surprised. He felt too guilty to face her again.

“Oh, I knew. I always thought he had a little crush on you when you were younger, though he didn’t start talking about it until a few years ago.” Craig heard her set her coffee mug down again. “He was always asking me for advice. I told him just to be himself, but he had trouble with that. Being a teenager can be so hard.” After a reflective pause, she continued, “He talked about you a lot, even though you two had stopped seeing each other much. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what was going on.”

Craig bit his lip and said nothing. Tweek and his mother had always been close; he remembered that much. While he’d found it a bit weird how much coffee she would give him, there was no doubt that she was a loving mother. Whenever Craig, and sometimes the other guys, arrived at Tweek’s house after school, Mrs. Tweak would appear with snacks and ask about school. Unlike most kids, Tweek would share everything with his mom when asked. At dinner, Tweek would ask his parents if there was anything he could do to help. It made Craig self-conscious about his own family relationship—less talking, more swearing; less hugging, more flipping each other off. Maybe it hadn’t been the décor that made Tweek’s house feel so cozy. Maybe it was just the atmosphere.

Placing the last clean mug in the drying rack, Craig turned off the faucet. Grabbing the pile of mail off the counter, he joined Mrs. Tweak at the table and began sorting. “Can you tell me more about what he was like?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes downward. Even though he was reacquainted with Tweek now, he somehow felt the need to know more about him. All the stuff Craig had missed out on because of his own issues.

Mrs. Tweak watched Craig forming piles, but to Craig’s relief, she did not protest. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s see. He was…such a hardworking boy. He helped out at the store almost every day since he turned fifteen, and he never once complained about it. The customers loved him. His father was so proud.” She paused. “Richard thought he would maybe open his own franchise someday after college. I don’t think that’s what Tweek wanted, but he never said ‘no’ to his dad. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings.”

“What did he want to do?” Craig inquired.

“Well, I’m not sure. He was always reading something or other. I think your classmate Butters was a good influence in that way. Tweek was curious about everything. You could ask him about any current event you could think of, and Tweek could explain what was going on and give his opinion. I think he would have made a great reporter. But who knows.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “Last year, actually, he started doing really well in science. He loved his biology class. Maybe if he wasn’t so twitchy, he could have been a surgeon.” She smiled softly.

“A surgeon,” Craig repeated without thinking. Looking up, he saw Mrs. Tweak watching him again. “Sorry,” he muttered quickly. “It’s just…I didn’t know. I had no idea.”

Mrs. Tweak nodded. “I’m sure you boys didn’t have too many discussions about potential career paths as middle schoolers. Which is best, I think. Tweek grew up so fast. It’s nice thinking about him being young again. Young and carefree.” As Craig placed the last of the envelopes in his “bills” pile, Mrs. Tweak rose from the table. “Actually,” she said, turning away to the counter and refilling her coffee mug, “I had some photo albums out. Would you mind…? I’d love to have someone to show them to,” she finished apologetically, and Craig’s heart went out to her.

“Of course,” he said, and got up as she gestured for him to follow her to the living room. She waited for him to sit on the maroon leather sofa before placing her mug on the coffee table and picking up the albums that lay out.

“Let’s see,” she started, and it was like a dream as she began showing Craig pictures of an elementary school-aged Tweek. Craig remembered that ugly green shirt Tweek wore practically every day, never buttoned up quite right. There he was at Disney Land. There he was at Casa Bonita. There he was-what?-with Stan Marsh’s group. Craig had hated those kids—oh, and there he was with Craig.

Craig smiled as Mrs. Tweak removed the picture from its plastic sleeve. The photo had been taken in a hospital room, which Tweek and Craig had shared. The legendary fight! Craig had completely forgotten it. For some stupid reason he couldn’t remember, he and Tweek had gone at it back in third grade. Though they had hated each other at first, that hospital room was the place where he and Tweek had become friends. In between complaining about hospital food and messing with the nurses, they had started getting along.

“Some of these are a little out of order,” Mrs. Tweak said, watching Craig look at the picture. In it, they were sitting on Craig’s bed, signing each other’s casts. Craig looked up at her, and she smiled. “This one might be my favourite, though.”

“Yeah,” Craig murmured, and he handed it back to her. She replaced it and picked up the other book. She waited for Craig to nod encouragingly before opening it.

“These are from middle school,” she said softly, and started turning the pages. Craig and his friends began appearing more and more. Birthday parties, hockey games, Token’s piano recital. The four boys in front of the old Tweek Bros. coffee shop on its last day. More common than those of the foursome, though, were photographs of only Tweek and Craig. Towards the middle of the album, Craig paused and placed his hand on the edge to prevent Mrs. Tweak from flipping through any further.

The photograph that had caught his eye was from eighth grade. Mr. Tweek and Craig’s dad had taken them to a Broncos game. Before the game, they had stopped at a diner to grab lunch. This picture had been taken in the parking lot. Craig had been so excited for that game. He’d been stoked to see the Broncos crush the Chargers. In the picture, his happiness showed. His eyes were scrunched shut from the force of his smile, and his arms were thrown tightly around Tweek. Tweek, who’d turned his orange cap backwards to match Craig’s. Tweek was smiling too, but only slightly. And while Craig was grinning at whomever the photographer had been, Tweek’s face was turned slightly toward Craig, and he looked so…happy.

Fuck. It was so obvious. Tweek’s crush hadn’t started in high school, the way Craig remembered. It must have started much earlier—it was written all over his face in this photograph. And it had never affected anything. It probably never would have changed their friendship, if only Craig hadn’t noticed and lashed out. If Craig had just left things alone and stayed friends with Tweek, Tweek would still be alive. Tweek could have been a fucking surgeon or something.

“I think this is my favourite,” he choked out. His vision was blurred from tears, and he sniffed angrily at himself. “Can I keep it?”

Looking at Mrs. Tweak, he saw that she was crying, too. “Of course,” she answered.

They sat silent and still for a while, just crying. Craig wordlessly begged for forgiveness; he knew he had received it. He didn’t remember feeling this much emotion his entire life. He’d certainly never cried like this.

Eventually, Mrs. Tweak wiped her eyes. She stood up, her hand outstretched to Craig. He took it and rose as she said, “It’s getting late, dear. Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

Craig swallowed and nodded, tucking the photograph into his back pocket. He wiped his face with his sleeve and walked back into the kitchen, toward the front door. Opening it and stepping outside, he turned back once more to see Mrs. Tweak standing in the doorway. “Will you come see me again sometime?” she asked timidly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll come back,” Craig promised, and he headed to his truck. He started the engine and, wiping his face once more, backed out of the driveway.

With everything that had happened, he had forgotten all about the note.

***

Dinner was ready when Craig returned home, and what with homework and Red Racer reruns (which calmed Craig down bit), it wasn’t until around ten that he headed reluctantly upstairs.

“Hey,” Tweek said as Craig entered his room. “How was your day?”

“Uh, fine,” Craig said, briefly remembering the assembly and choosing not to recount his little outburst. Regardless, he couldn’t even explain that if he tried. “I saw your mom.”

“My mom?”

Craig paused when he heard this phrase, which was full of emotion. He wondered whether bringing this up had also been a poor idea. Oh well—there was no going back now. “Yeah,” Craig answered anyway. “I went to your house.”

Instead of asking “why,” which was somewhat relieving, Tweek watched as Craig joined him on the bed. “How is she?” he asked softly.

“She’s—she’s doing pretty well,” Craig answered carefully. “Uh…Honestly, she seems pretty lonely. I talked to her for a while. Did some dishes.” He stopped as Tweek’s curious expression turned into a stare he couldn’t categorize.

“You went to my house and did dishes for my mom?” he asked incredulously. “My lonely mom?”

Frozen, Craig was almost scared to answer. “Yeah,” he said faintly.

“I love you.”

Tweek continued staring at Craig as he uttered this phrase, and Craig was surprised, having expected something more like “fuck you.” “What?” he asked, taken aback.

“I love you,” Tweek repeated immediately, unblinking.

“Don’t say that,” Craig said, confused but relaxing. He traced his calf muscle with his thumb. “I feel like crap.”

“Don’t,” commanded Tweek. He glanced down at what Craig’s thumb was doing, then back up at Craig. “You did a beautiful thing. I’m sorry, but please just let me say it. I love you.”

Craig laughed slightly. “Okay. Well, uh, I’ve kind of had a long day. I kind of want to call it a night.”

Tweek uncrossed his legs and got off the bed obediently, but at the door, he stopped and turned around. “I love you, Craig,” he repeated before disappearing through the doorway.

Craig stretched out his legs and moved forward, so that collapsing backwards onto his pillow became more comfortable. “I know,” he said, and his guilt carried him quickly to sleep.

**-Cpt. Essex Cole**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to all my new readers, and thank you for your interest in my story. As always, thanks for reading!


	9. Hollow Heroes Separate

Craig elected to spend the weekend at home. Not that he had too many alternatives: after his stunt at Friday’s assembly, Clyde and Token hadn’t bothered contacting him. In truth, he didn’t mind at all. Though he wasn’t ashamed of what he had said, he wasn’t exactly eager to talk about it. Further, he didn’t really want to know what had happened after he had left. There had been at least a good five minutes before anyone had left the school after him, so there must have been some type of finale. Craig cringed at the idea of Mrs. Rhodes trying to finish strong with a positive message. What a fucking joke.

So instead, Craig had mostly stayed in his room. Spending time with Tweek was getting much easier. Sometimes he felt like he was being stared at, but for the most part, Tweek was pretty cool. He even helped Craig out with some of his homework. It blew his mind how _smart_ Tweek was—had he always been like that? Craig didn’t remember.

As kids, they got along largely out of mutual distaste for Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski’s group. (Damn, those guys were assholes back then.) They would all hang out at Token’s or Tweek’s place playing video games and complaining about school. None of them really had anything in common besides being in the same class, but still, the group dynamic worked. Token and Clyde were best friends, and then there was Craig and Tweek.

When the latter duo was alone, life just felt more fun. Craig had always secretly liked the way Tweek leaned on him for comfort when it came to all his ridiculous fears and paranoia. Tweek hated crowds, the microwave, heights, anything that could be considered a “bug” or a “rodent” (except for Craig’s beloved guinea pig, Stripe), anyone knocking on the door, tap water, certain ceilings, some made-up shit called “underpants gnomes,” taking out the trash at night, one of the Tweeks’ three identical coffee makers, Craig’s dad and kind of maybe Craig’s little sister, large suitcases, thunderstorms, and garbage disposals. Whenever Tweek was scared, he would get all silent and quivery. You could see him trying to stay calm, but his eyes gave everything away. Most of the kids thought he was annoying, but Craig didn’t mind. He’d always been the only one who could reassure Tweek that everything was going to be okay. It made him feel responsible and grown-up.

He remembered one time in seventh grade when Tweek had been at his house to work on a science project. There had been a huge thunderstorm that evening. When the thunder started rumbling, Craig had been downstairs grabbing snacks. His father was in the kitchen reading his newspaper. “Oh God,” Thomas Tucker had said; “That Tweek kid is over, right? Better head upstairs before he shits himself.” Craig had flipped his dad off, but knew his words held merit. The power went out soon after, and Craig quickly obliged to his father’s command of, “Craig, get your ass upstairs. I will not have some strange kid pissing his pants in my house!”

Bolting up the stairs, he’d heard Tweek’s breathing. When he reached his room, he found Tweek on the floor, letting out random nonsensical exclamations and pulling at his hair. “Tweek!” Craig had yelled. “Shut the fuck up, Jesus.” Sitting across from Tweek, he’d stared at his friend until he quieted down. Though it seemed harsh, that was how Craig always got Tweek to focus. And Tweek would always go into some slow, timid explanation of why he’d been scared. “I know,” Craig would say, and that would be that. This was their routine. Other kids would try to help out during Tweek’s fanatic episodes at school, but nobody but Craig knew how to do it right.

That night, it had taken twenty minutes for the power to come back on. The whole time, the two had sat in silence. When the lights finally flickered back on, Tweek had smiled like he’d just been given a second chance at life at St. Peter’s gate. Meanwhile, Craig had simply opened a bag of chips and started back on the project.

Memories like this had been long since buried during Craig’s three years of high school, during which he had only seen Tweek as an obsessive stalker. Sure, Tweek had been pretty bad. But sitting on his bed across from each other, talking about everything in Craig’s current daily life, Craig couldn’t remember any of that stuff. Lately, it felt like Tweek was the only one who had his back. Clyde and Token were great, but where were they? Nowhere to be found by Craig—not that he sought them out.

“Wake up.”

Craig opened his eyes groggily and looked around. Who the fuck was talking? His mom never cared enough to wake him up for school. “What are you doing?” he groaned when he finally caught sight of Tweek, who was looking over him from a standing position behind his headboard.

“It’s really late. You only have twenty minutes to get to school.”

Tweek had never come into Craig’s room in the morning before, and Craig was mildly surprised to discover that his ghostly companion was kind of hard to see in natural light. “You’re really faint,” he commented before rolling over. “And I don’t want to go to school. It’ll be awkward.”

“Why would it be awkward?” Tweek questioned, and Craig groaned again. He still hadn’t gotten around to mentioning the assembly thing. He waited, hoping Tweek would give up.

“Holy fuck,” he cried, sitting upright in a flash. A freezing feeling had suddenly chilled what felt like his entire brain and, fully awake now, it occurred to Craig that Tweek had touched his forehead. He turned around, scowling when he saw what appeared to be a smug grin on Tweek’s face. “What was that for?” he asked crossly.

“You don’t seem to have a fever,” Tweek said, with what was _definitely_ a smug grin. “You shouldn’t be absent. You said you have a test. What’s wrong at school?”

Craig sighed and rose out of bed, running a hand through his hair. “Never mind,” he grumbled. “I’ll go.” Looking back at Tweek, he gestured at the door. “Do you mind?” he asked, failing to feign patience.

“Okay,” Tweek said brightly, heading for the door. “But I’ll be back in five minutes if you aren’t ready by then.” He laughed when Craig swore in response.

* * *

 

After the weekend of silence, Craig had to admit he was surprised to find Clyde and Token waiting by his locker when he entered the school. After being stared at by everyone who saw him pass, he had been looking forward to a moment alone. But there they were by locker #49, talking together in that furtive way they always seemed to be doing. When they noticed him coming, they quickly shut up. Craig rolled his eyes as he approached. “What’s up guys,” he muttered, waiting for Clyde to get out of the way of his lock.

“Hey,” started Token. “How’ve you been doing?”

Craig paused in the middle of picking out a textbook. “What do you mean?” he asked, choosing to play dumb. They had chosen not to contact him all weekend. He would choose to make them own up to it.

“Come on,” Clyde sighed, but started over when Token nudged him. “Okay. We’re talking about the assembly. We just…weren’t expecting that from you.”

The late bell rang, and Craig made to close his locker. Token grabbed the door, however, and said, “We can skip homeroom. Please just hear us out.” He cleared his throat, which apparently was a signal for Clyde to continue.

“You know that you haven’t really talked to us about the Tweek thing before now. You shut us down when we tried to get you to open up. So we were just kind of confused by it. We thought that maybe you wanted to be left alone for a bit. But it seems like we were wrong, and I’m sorry, dude.” As the last few stragglers cleared the halls, Clyde looked around. “But we were really happy to see you opening up. And it was really impressive that you did it in front of the entire school.”

It wasn’t like Clyde to be particularly straightforward or eloquent, and despite himself, Craig relaxed slightly. Still, he kept his head down. “I don’t really know where that came from,” he admitted. “It just happened.”

“That’s okay,” Token quickly put in. That just means it was that much more honest.” He paused. “Have you been thinking about Tweek a lot lately?”

Craig cleared his throat awkwardly. “I guess.” He obviously wasn’t going to explain why, though.

“You said—you said something about taking on Tweek’s pain to bring him back,” Clyde mentioned cautiously. “And that you failed him. We were a little worried. And we know we should have asked you about this sometime this weekend, but—have you been feeling like this for a long time?”

It was the kind of thing Token would say, and Craig wondered briefly whether they had pre-written and rehearsed this little heart-to-heart. “I don’t know. Maybe not until recently,” he mumbled anyway, surprising himself with his own honesty. “Or I just didn’t realize until recently. I’m not sure.”

“Okay,” Token repeated gently, and he leaned against the locker to the left of Craig’s to look at his friend from a better angle. “Well, we wanted to make sure you know that we’re here for you. We want you to feel like you can talk to us about this stuff. We really care about you, man.”

“Exactly,” agreed Clyde.

Craig stared at him, finally closing his locker. “You sound a lot smarter than usual,” he said bluntly. “I don’t know what happened, but it’s nice.”

Clyde laughed, as Craig knew he would. “Fuck you,” he said, and the bell for first classes rang.

* * *

 

Despite his friends’ encouragement, however, Craig knew right away that the other kids weren’t quite as enthusiastic about his implied change of heart. And while Clyde did a great job of pretending nothing was off during their shared history class first period, Craig had psychology, chemistry, and calculus next, all alone. Well, he hadn’t felt alone in the classes before. But Jason and the other football guys he usually sat with felt less and less like friends by the minute. In psych, they had a test, which mercifully lasted the entire period. Chemistry, however, was just a typical note-taking day.

He had given up on the psych test fairly quickly, and was subsequently ready to leave the classroom as soon as the bell rang. Arriving first at the chemistry classroom, he chose his usual seat at the lab table by the window. Whoever wanted to sit there or didn’t, fine. He pulled his notebook and textbook from his bookbag and set it on the floor. Setting them neatly on the table, he waited. Suddenly, he remembered he’d need a pen. He leaned over and pulled out one of those, too. He placed it on top of the notebook and resumed waiting.

Words couldn’t describe how awkward he felt. It was unlike himself to care about whether he’d look stupid for having all of his materials out and ready, and yet, he did. He tried to remember. Did he usually have all his stuff out before class began? No, because he never arrived early. Fuck. What was he so afraid of?

Mr. Jacobs, the good-natured chemistry teacher, soon entered, carrying on a cheerful conversation with Butters. The teacher stopped upon reaching his desk, but Butters continued heading towards the tables. He paused when he saw Craig, and Craig couldn’t help staring back. Butters’ expression was hard to read. Craig worried briefly that the kid would try to sit with him, but his fears were assuaged when he felt someone plop down in the seat next to his. He turned, breaking his eye contact with Butters, and was mildly disappointed to see Jason.

To be fair, it was Jason’s usual seat. Craig, however, wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. Sure enough, Jason had a stupid look on his face. “What’s up, dude?” he asked. Craig scowled, but it didn’t seem to matter. Jason was such an asshole, he thought. “What’d you think of the test?”

“What test?” grumbled Craig. He wished that Tweek had let him sleep in. Fucking Tweek.

Jason gaped a little as Kenny sat on Craig’s other side. “The one we literally just took. Are you okay?”

Mildly embarrassed, Craig kicked himself inwardly. “Oh, yeah. It was fine.”

Kenny leaned over towards Craig, resting his head on his outstretched arm. “You been daydreaming, buddy?” he asked, a smirk in his voice, and Craig felt himself blushing. Now he remembered. Kenny was the real asshole.

“Nah,” Craig answered shortly, absentmindedly staring down at Kenny. No matter the situation, Ken had one of those faces that always looked like he was half-laughing at something. Usually, his appearance gave off a good-natured image for this reason. If you got to know him, though, you’d realize that Kenny’s laughter was nearly always at someone else’s expense. And where Jason might just have been stupid enough to forget what happened on Friday, Craig could feel Kenny wordlessly pointing out the awkwardness he felt.

Craig could’ve hit him.

“What was that all about on Friday?” Kenny asked, predictably enough. He blinked innocently up at Craig. “How we’re not worthy?” When Craig didn’t answer, he turned his gaze to Jason. “Remember that, Jay? What was that Craig said?”

“Oh yeah,” said Jason with a brief chuckle. He smiled down at Kenny before looking at Craig once more. “That was, uh, a pretty loaded speech. Pretty awkward, honestly.”

“Pretty awkward,” echoed Kenny, now grinning sweetly. “What did you mean by that, Craig? Because if I recall correctly, you and Tweek weren’t even friends.”

“Was there something we didn’t know about?” asked Jason, and Kenny snorted. Craig knew it was a joke, but the heat in his cheeks remained.

“No,” he said shortly as the bell rang. Mr. Jacobs headed to the front of the class with some jovial greeting, but Craig was too angry to hear it. “But I think it’s pretty funny how you’ve forgotten what _you_ did wrong, too.” Looking icily down his nose at Kenny, he continued, “And it’s just fucked up that you think this is a joke.”

Jason looked taken aback as Craig used his textbook to push Kenny out of his personal space. “Whoa whoa,” he said defensively. “What exactly are you blaming on me here?”

“I’m not blaming anything on you that I don’t blame on myself. But at least I feel fucking guilty. Do you even feel anything?” Craig asked, surprising himself again with his own honesty. Since Friday, he felt somehow like he didn’t have to watch what he said, ever. Even though his friends had always kind of hung around Craig, looking to him as a sort of leader, Craig had always felt like he was two steps away from exile. Especially with the whole Tweek thing hanging over his head throughout high school. Now, Tweek was as present as ever in Craig’s life, but it was different. Seeing Tweek in a different light had made him see the kids who he’d thought were his friends in a different light, too. The change wasn’t flattering, either.

Craig remembered Jason insinuating that Tweek’s death was on Craig’s hands. Back then, he’d felt not only shame, but fear. It was fear of the kids at school seeing him a certain way. Now, Craig felt nothing for his classmates. Who cared about these assholes? Like they even knew anything. Like they even knew Tweek. Butters was the only one who could say shit, and he’d said nothing. So, there.

“Dude,” said Kenny softly, and Craig couldn’t help turning his head ever so slightly to look. Though his eyes still looked inquisitive, Kenny sure as hell wasn’t smiling anymore. This was the most solemn Craig had ever seen him look.

Luckily, they didn’t bother him with the subject again for the rest of the period.

* * *

Surprisingly, Craig heard no more about his outburst at the assembly from his friends that day, although the whispering in the hallways and the pointing and staring from relative strangers assured him that the topic was alive and well. He was extremely thankful to Clyde and Token, who, when able, joined him and began loud conversations in attempt to distract him from the controversy. Though the day went by slowly, it wasn’t too painful. Football practice, however, he hadn’t been looking forward to.

Once suited up and on the field, Craig couldn’t wait to be anywhere else. Coach Cassidy had declared a scrimmage for his own observational purposes, which would hopefully quicken the whole ordeal. Standing in the center, he waited for Coach to quit yelling at Cartman and Bradley to quit dicking around and looking at the various girls watching from the sidelines. The rant was getting lengthy, and Craig was secretly thankful—they had to be what, a half an hour into practice? Still, he wished that he wasn’t the center: his spot gave him prime visibility for his teammates, and while Coach might be caught up in telling off the offensive tackles, he kept seeing Jason turning to look at him. Craig flipped him off a few times, as he usually would, but his trusty middle finger didn’t seem as effective as usual.

“All right you punks,” Coach finally snarled. “Craig, you ready, boy?”

Craig nodded, groaning inwardly. Football had never before seemed so stupid. He wanted to go home. Red Racer was probably on. And Red Racer never judged.

The whistle blew and he snapped the ball back to Stan. As Kevin Stoley ran at him, he got down to block. Holding steady, he briefly looked up at Kevin’s face.

Only it wasn’t Kevin. It was Tweek.

“The fuck,” he exclaimed, standing and quickly backing away. Looking back, he saw Kevin give him a puzzled look before running around him. Craig swore once more, inwardly this time, and just let him go. The whistle blew and everyone froze.

“CRAIG!” hollered Coach Cassidy. “YOU THINK I DIDN’T SEE THAT, BOY?”

Craig looked away to roll his eyes at himself, frustrated. Of course Coach had seen it. It was an incredibly stupid mistake. What nagged at him, though, was that he’d seen Tweek again. _He’s not here,_ he thought furiously. _He can’t be here. He can’t even go outside._

He looked back to see Coach storming up to him. “What was that?” he demanded. “It’s not them girls, is it? I told ‘em to stop coming.” he threw a glare over his shoulder at the giggling freshmen.

“No, sir,” said Craig dully. _Fuck_ , he wanted to go home.

“You know I put you there to play because you have an ounce of talent! You know how to block, so do it!” Stomping away, Coach addressed the whole team. “Start over, boys! And I better see you putting in some effort! GOOD LORD, CARTMAN, YOU NEED A COLD SHOWER, BOY?”

Craig sheepishly headed back to his position, annoyed to feel himself blushing again. They were only starting over because Craig happened to be one of Coach’s favourites, and despite the criticism, he knew he was being given a second chance to be bragged about. In the past, he hadn’t minded Coach using him and Stan as examples of how the rest of the team ought to be. Now, he just wanted to be left alone. Who cared if he fucked up? He was going crazy.

He saw Stan saying something to Kyle, and not-so-discreetly glancing at Craig. The assholes. Those two always had some self-righteous shit to say about everybody else. He watched as Kyle patted Stan on the shoulder, and the quarterback returned to his position. “Try to take this seriously, now!” warned Coach, and the whistle blew once more.

Craig held successfully this time, and he was relieved for it. The scrimmage continued without incident for another half-hour, so he began to relax. Maybe he hadn’t seen Tweek’s face at all. Maybe it was just the shadow, and the helmet, and—well, sure, Kevin was Asian. Nonetheless. Everything was fine.

After an admittedly impressive touchdown scored by Kyle, Craig jogged back to the original line of scrimmage. On his way, he absentmindedly turned his head toward the sound of giggling. None of the freshmen girls’ boyfriends were at the varsity practice, he thought to himself. Why did they even show up?

But as one of the girls, thinking she’d caught his attention, waved hopefully, Craig slowed to a halt. Squinting into the sun, his heart sank. There was Tweek again, sitting on the sidelines, hugging his legs to his chest.

He heard someone yelling his name and ignored it. His head was pounding. Tweek wasn’t there. He knew Tweek _couldn’t_ be there. But keeping his eyes trained on that spot, Tweek wasn’t disappearing. Craig closed his eyes slowly, but reopening them—nope, still there. His throat tightened as Tweek raised his head, leaned back onto one hand, and waved with the other.

“No,” he said aloud, barely registering the sound of his teammates calling to him. He made sure not to blink as he headed for the sidelines, watching Tweek’s figure draw larger and larger as the distance between them shrank. Tweek _was_ there. But how could he be there? It wasn’t possible, but there he was. Craig noticed how heavily he was breathing but couldn’t stop, swiftly approaching the place where Tweek—

Wasn’t?

Reaching the sideline, he looked wildly around. He hadn’t blinked! He knew that he hadn’t. But while Tweek had been there just a second ago, suddenly, he was gone. One of the girls said something; he couldn’t hear it. No speech seemed intelligible. Tweek had been there, Craig had seen him. Yet as certain as he was that he _had_ seen Tweek, he knew just as well that he hadn’t. It just wasn’t possible.

“Craig?”

His entire body tensed, but he was able to turn his head slightly to the right to acknowledge his coach. “He was just here,” he tried to think, but realized too late that the remark had left his mouth.

Coach drew closer, eventually coming around to face Craig when Craig failed to command his own body to move. “What’s going on, boy?” Coach asked gently, his expression full of worry. Craig was able to match his gaze, but said nothing. He felt the collective stare of his entire team on his back and wanted to yell, but his vocal cords seemed out of order. Bewildered himself, he stared back at Coach, who finally reached out and shook him by the shoulder.   “You look like you’ve seen a damn ghost,” he muttered.

At this, Craig finally felt himself reacting. The buzzing he hadn’t noticed filling his ears subsided. He stepped back, disoriented, and looked around once more. Nothing. No one except the group of girls, who were now standing together looking frightened, was visible. Blinking rapidly, he looked back at Coach Cassidy. “I quit,” he heard himself saying.

Coach looked completely taken aback. “What?” he barked. “What are you talking about?”

Craig simply shook his head. “I’m quitting the team,” he said shortly, pulling off his helmet. With that, he simply walked past his coach, off the field, and toward the school.

* * *

Stan was in the parking lot waiting for him when Craig reached his truck, still in his pads. He hadn’t wanted to waste any time changing in hopes of avoiding a confrontation like this. Ignoring his teammate, he headed around to the passenger side to throw his backpack in and, reaching with his key, start up the engine. Closing the door, he walked back to face Stan. “So you’re just going to quit the team?” the kid asked, screwing up his eyes in that discerning gaze he was practically famous for. “In the middle of the season. Just like that?”

Craig snorted at the thinly veiled appeal to team spirit. The season was more than halfway over, he thought defensively. Not that he gave a shit. “Just let me go, please,” he said curtly.

Running a hand through his sweaty black hair, Stan looked pained. “Come on, dude,” he pleaded. “What am I supposed to do without you? I depend on you. We all do. You’re the _cen-ter_.”

He’d annunciated this last word particular annoyingly, and any guilt Craig felt began to dissipate. “Great,” he yelled back wildly. “Yeah! I know! I was! I can’t _do_ this anymore, man.” He tried to open the driver’s side door of his car, but Stan quickly blocked him.

“What’s going on with you lately?” he questioned Craig. “It’s like you’re avoiding everybody. We’ve all noticed it. Why won’t you talk to me? I don’t know what’s wrong, but I’ll help you.”

“You can’t _help_ me,” Craig growled suddenly. He felt more annoyed than defensive, now. Stan was just like all the other douchebags he’d been counting on all these years. What the fuck did he mean, they’d all _noticed it_? Since when was everybody so interested in Craig’s business that they were talking about it behind his back? He asked Stan as much.

To his credit, Stan looked somewhat crestfallen. “Not in a bad way,” he said quietly. “We’ve just been seeing you change. And—”

“And what?” Craig fired back. “And what? You don’t like me anymore, because I finally grew some fucking self-awareness? I’m beyond anybody’s fucking help, Stan. You know what I did. You all watched me do it. And you know what? You helped!” Glaring, he shouldered Stan out of the way, opening the door of his truck.

“What are you _talking_ about, man?” Stan yelled, looking somewhat frightened.

But Craig was done with the conversation. Climbing into his truck, he closed the door and pulled out, relishing the sound of his engine roaring as he sped away.

Finally, he was going home. He _knew_ Tweek would be there. And at this moment, he really needed his friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something really fun happens in the next chapter, but unfortunately, I won't be able to update for at least a few weeks. Until then, I hope you're all enjoying this (and I hope my lack of football knowledge wasn't too obvious). Even though I know this chapter moved a little slowly, all of this is /very/ important.
> 
> Thank you for reading! And for those kind people who have taken the time to comment, thank you so much. I love hearing from you.


	10. You Have a Lot of Strength Left

“You’re home early,” Tweek remarked as Craig burst through his bedroom door. Looking Craig up and down, he added, “Was there a fire on the football field or something?”

Craig threw his down his cleats and shoulder pads, having removed them before entering the house. “Nah,” he answered, ignoring Tweek’s facetiousness. “I had a really shitty day. Do you care if I smell bad?”

Tweek tilted his head. “I actually can’t smell anything,” he said. “So, nope. Not at all.”

With a brief awkward pause, Craig headed for the bed and hopped up. He was sweaty enough that this was mildly gross, but it was an easy enough thought to bypass. Pulling off his socks before shifting to face Tweek, he commented, “That’s interesting.”

“I know. I don’t think I even realized until now.” Tweek watched Craig ball up his socks and throw them on the floor. “You should put those in your hamper. But tell me about your day first.”

Craig scratched at his neck, wondering where to begin. “I just feel like everybody is looking at me funny lately,” he started. “Everyone is treating me different. And I mean, I think I _am_ different. But I just don’t know how to deal with all of this.”

For a moment, Craig thought he saw Tweek’s faint grin, but as soon as he’d noticed it, it was gone. “What do you mean, they’re treating you different?” the ghost asked. “Why would they do that?”

At this question, Craig had to pause and consider his words. He _really_ didn’t want to share the details of the assembly, but wasn’t sure how to explain his dilemma without doing so. “Do you think I’m different?” he questioned instead.

This time, Tweek’s smile was unmistakable. “No,” he said, looking Craig in the eye. “But I’ve always seen you for who you really are, Craig.”

Craig stared back for a moment before looking away. “I feel like I don’t have anything in common with any of my friends anymore,” he admitted. “And I don’t think they get me, either.”

“What about Clyde and Token?”

“They mean a lot to me. But honestly, I don’t think they know what to do with me,” Craig sighed before making choking out, “I quit football today. I’d never thought about not playing before. I loved the team. But now, all I see when I look at them is a bunch of idiots who don’t care about anything.” He snorted. “Fucking Stan Marsh tried to stop me in the parking lot. Even Token and Clyde didn’t bother doing that.”

Tweek shrugged, still watching Craig closely. “Maybe Stan asked them to let him do it. He’s co-captain, isn’t he? And why did you quit?”

Thinking over this admittedly valid point, he answered, “Uh, yeah. He is. And I told you. I don’t want anything to do with those guys anymore.”

“But you didn’t quit a sport you’ve been playing since fourth grade just because you didn’t like your teammates, did you?” Tweek pressed. “And why are you so against them, again?”

Craig stared. “You know the people I’m talking about, right? Cartman, Kenny? Bradley? Even Stan and Kyle…You know what all of these people have in common, right?”

Surprisingly, Tweek’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why don’t you just say what’s on your mind, Craig?” he suggested slowly.

Lowering his head, Craig obliged. “All of those guys… They’ve been my friends since freshman year. And they all helped—when you—I mean… Anything I wanted those guys to do, they would do it.” He waited for Tweek to comment, but seeing Tweek nod, continued. “And sometimes they would do stuff on their own. To you.” He gulped. “And now that I know you, and we’re friends, I think about it constantly. But I don’t see any of them thinking about it at all. It’s kind of…I don’t know. It makes me angry. And guilty. I don’t want to be the kind of person who doesn’t care about anything anymore.”

Tweek’s expression softened. “Well, you aren’t,” he said. “And don’t feel guilty. I don’t want you limiting yourself for my sake. I told you none of this is your fault.”

Craig looked up at his ceiling. “I’m not limiting myself, and you only say that because you love me.” Realizing what he had said, his eyes widened and he glanced back at Tweek, embarrassed. “Uh…” he said awkwardly, but Tweek’s beaming grin had reappeared.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding somewhat excited. “It’s okay. You can say it; it’s the truth. Can I say it, too? I love you.”

Craig put his head in his hands, smiling at the stupidity of having made this comment. “You know what,” he said, changing the subject, “I could’ve sworn I saw you on the sidelines at practice today.”

Tweek looked very interested at this development. “Really?” he asked. “You mean someone who looked like me, or you actually thought it was me?”

Although he hadn’t intended to share this at all, Craig figured there was no harm in disclosing a portion of what had gone down at practice. “Remember when I came in here last week, all pissed because I thought you’d followed me on a date?” He waited for Tweek to nod. “It was kind of like that. I was so sure it was you.”

Shrugging, Tweek answered, “I guess there must be someone who looks like me around there. I don’t actually leave your house, Craig. I’m not invisible...”

“I know!” Craig said quickly. “I’m not accusing you of anything. It’s just bizarre. It really messed me up, honestly.” He thought for a moment. “It didn’t happen just once, either. I looked up at Kevin Stoley during a block and I swear, I was seeing your face.”

For some reason, Tweek’s interest appeared to be reignited, and he leaned forward. “Wait, what? No way you could mix me up with Kevin Stoley. He’s Asian.”

“I know,” Craig said again. “I messed up the whole play, I was so surprised.”

Tweek sat back, an inscrutable look on his face. “That wasn’t me,” he muttered, so quietly Craig could barely hear. “There’s no way.”

“Don’t worry,” Craig assured him, “I know better now. I’m just saying, it was really weird.”

Frowning slightly, Tweek’s look of curiosity faded. “This doesn’t have anything to do with why you quit the team, does it?”

The answer was technically “yes,” but Craig didn’t want to get into it. “I don’t know,” he said instead.

* * *

 

The week went by slowly, with Craig dreading school every day. He’d skipped school on Tuesday, in spite of Tweek’s disapproval, hoping to avoid confrontations from the rest of the team. His phone, inundated with texts from his teammates as soon as practice had ended on Monday, had been left in the corner of his sock drawer to minimize human contact. His dad had yelled at him about quitting football, but his dad yelled about everything, and Craig doubted he was too torn up about it. (He was mildly annoyed that Coach Cassidy had apparently called Craig’s father personally, perhaps in an attempt at an emotional appeal. Unfortunately, Coach had failed to realize that Craig hardly cared what his father thought about anything, anyway.)

Wednesday, it had been Stan rather than Token or Clyde waiting at Craig’s locker before school. Unlike Coach, Stan was very eloquent when he wanted something, and shaking him off had been particularly difficult. The worst part of all of it, he’d decided, was that he didn’t even have a real answer for why he was doing what he was doing. All Craig knew was that he wanted change—he didn’t really even know why. But suddenly, he was finding fault with everything he did and thought. Even sitting through classes had become torturous. He didn’t want to see anybody, and he didn’t want anybody looking at him, either. Voicing these insecurities to Tweek, he had felt understood. Tweek never judged what he said or looked at him funny. But when he’d finally had the courage to bring up the subject of reinventing himself to Token and Clyde at lunch on Thursday, they’d exchanged looks, and Token turned to him to say:

“Craig, you’ve been worrying us lately.”

Couldn’t anybody support him? He’d told them to forget it. It was like he had nobody on his side, not really. The only person he could trust was Tweek, and though Craig had been spending more time with him since football was out of the way, he still had to get through school.

So when Friday finally came around, Craig arrived late to ensure that he would miss homeroom. Stan and Kyle tried to catch his eye on his way to history class, but otherwise, he felt successful in evading pretty much everyone. In classes, people mostly seemed to realize that he no longer wanted to be bothered. Even teachers generally allowed him to pretend he wasn’t there.

At lunch, Craig was faced with a dilemma. Though he wasn’t too eager to join any of the tables that would usually welcome him, he was also reluctant to do something lame like eating alone in the hallway. He wasn’t pathetic; he was just going through…something. He knew there would be an open seat waiting for him next to Clyde, but after having been embarrassed for being honest the day prior, he was loath to face even his only real friends. Entering the cafeteria a good five minutes into the lunch period, he scanned the room. When his eyes alighted on a nearly empty table, he considered—but quickly, realizing that the lone occupant of the table was Butters, he headed straight for it.

“Craig,” said Butters, sounding slightly surprised as he sat down. “Hey. How, uh, how are you?”

“Good,” said Craig simply. He turned his brown paper bag upside down on the table, dumping out the sandwich, protein bar, and bottled orange juice from inside. “You?”

Butters closed the textbook he’d been reading. “Not bad. The team has missed you,” he tried, but stopped when Craig waved a dismissive hand.

“Let’s not talk about that,” said Craig. He noticed suddenly that the textbook was all Butters had before him, and he paused. “Where’s your lunch?”

“I forgot,” said Butters sheepishly, blushing as Craig pushed his sandwich and orange juice toward him. “It’s okay,” he said quickly.

“I don’t want it,” said Craig, nodding when Butters looked up questioningly. “I never see you eat anything.”

Unwrapping the sandwich meagerly, Butters looked away. “I forget a lot,” he admitted. “Usually I’m up late studying, and I don’t have time to pack one.”

Craig furrowed his brow. “If your parents make you spend all your time studying, can’t one of them at least help you out with getting a lunch together?”

Butters shrugged. “They don’t really care what I do, as long as I’m working hard and participating in extracurriculars.” He rolled his eyes, something Craig had never seen him do. Butters, too, seeming to realize he had done something irregular, looked back up at Craig. “They want the best for me,” he added. “They just want me to have a good life after college.”

“What about your life now?” Craig asked, anger for Butters’ parents forming in his brain.

Now smiling, Butters said shyly, “You know, Tweek used to say that exact thing all the time.” He took a bite of the sandwich. “He hated my parents.”

Craig now remembered faintly that Tweek always used to sit in the exact seat he was in. From his usual table with the football guys, Craig had sometimes shot him a glare when informed that he was being stared at. With this memory, Craig also realized that Butters had probably been sitting alone for nearly two months now. He watched with guilt as the blonde devoured his BLT. “They don’t sound very nice,” he said lowly.

Butters nodded slightly. “It’s always kind of hard to explain your relationship with your parents to someone else, though, isn’t it?” he asked, turning the cap on the bottled juice. He gulped it down easily, and didn’t bother resisting when Craig slid over his protein bar, too. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“No problem,” said Craig, distracted. Butters’ comment about parents had got him thinking about Tweek’s mom again. He wondered if there was a new pile of dishes forming in the sink. Perhaps the trash was overflowing. Had there been newspapers piled up on the front step?

No more dialogue was exchanged for the remainder of the lunch period. Craig simply watched as Butters returned to his bookmarked page in his textbook, leaving Craig to his thoughts.

* * *

 

“Can I come in?”

Mrs. Tweak’s eyes had lit up when Craig arrived once more at her front door. “Of course,” she said, moving aside to let him pass. “Richard isn’t here.”

Stepping into the kitchen, Craig glanced around. The dishes in the sink didn’t seem too out of control, he noted. He had already checked for excess newspapers outside before knocking. Even the table was clear. He looked up and saw Mrs. Tweak watching him size up the room. When their eyes met, she smiled. “I’ve been doing well,” she said quietly.

“You have,” said Craig, grinning as well.

Mrs. Tweak pointed at the coffee machines, which appeared to have been cleaned, and poured herself a mug when Craig shook his head. “Will you sit with me, honey?” she asked. Knowing Craig’s answer before he nodded, she turned and headed into the living room. Sinking onto the couch, she gestured for Craig to join her. “You’re really an angel for visiting me,” she said fondly as he obliged.

“No, I’m not,” Craig mumbled. He looked down at his hands gathered in his lap. “But I was really regretting not visiting you sooner last week.”

“I never expected you to,” she assured him. “And I also never expected you to come back to check on me. But here you are.”

Craig smiled at the excited tone in her voice. “Have things been any easier?”

“I’ve been finding things to do with myself,” she answered. “You really gave me the push I needed.” Sighing, she looked around the living room. “Of course, I wouldn’t mind if my husband could be here a little more often. Even though I used to be here by myself anyway, the house felt a little less lonely knowing I had two people on the way, instead of just one. And Tweek was here on the weekends, mostly.” Suddenly, Mrs. Tweak looked gravely back at Craig. “I’m sorry, dear, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean to speak so freely.”

Craig felt terrible, seeing the guilt in her expression. “It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I think it’s good, if…if we can both be honest.” He rubbed at a smudge on the knee of his jeans. “There aren’t many people who really understand how important it is to unload what’s on your mind.”

Mrs. Tweak nodded vehemently. “Do you ever feel like your friends aren’t really your friends?” she asked quietly, almost in a whisper. “I got so many voicemails and cards, all saying the same thing: ‘If you ever want to talk, call me. I’m here.’ But even if the sentiment is real, it all feels so fake. What could anyone possibly say? On my worst days, so many times, I’ve picked up the phone and dialed a number, but I could never make the call.”

“Exactly,” answered Craig, relieved to finally receive some validation in his own feelings. “People say they’re there for you, but they don’t even understand anything. It’s too complicated for them.”

Nodding again, Mrs. Tweak leaned back. “I’m so sorry that you even empathize with all of this,” she said sadly. “You’re so young, Craig. These are grownup problems, really. Or at least they should be.”

“We never really feel like we’re young when we’re young, though,” Craig replied.

To this, Mrs. Tweak let out a small laugh. “That’s true,” she said. “Craig, honey, I remember once when you and Tweek were, oh, ten? You were staying with us for a weekend while your parents were out of town. I told you boys that Rosie from down the street would be watching you kids while Richard and I went to a dinner party. You asked why you and Tweek couldn’t just come eat dinner with us, and I told you it was a grownup party. Well, two hours later, when Richard went to get dressed, he found you boys mixed up in all of his ties and jackets, insisting that you could be grownups too.” She chuckled to herself at the memory, which Craig sheepishly realized he could vaguely remember as well. “There were ties all over the floor, and neither of you could figure out how to tie a tie. It was so funny, we couldn’t even be angry that Richard’s clothes were all over the floor.”

“Sorry,” said Craig, blushing slightly. “I’m betting it was probably my idea.”

“Probably,” Mrs. Tweak agreed. “You could always convince Tweek to do anything.”

They sat in silence for a while, which stretched into what felt like a long time, letting that statement hang in the air. It was true. While middle school shenanigans weren’t exactly the freshest memories in Craig’s mind, he remembered how Tweek had never questioned his less-than-genius ideas. While Craig had always been the sort of leader to his childhood group of friends, Token had never been afraid to challenge him. Clyde was up to anything that involved food or girls and against anything that would prevent him from being home by curfew. Tweek, on the other hand, had no strings attached, and would loyally agree to anything Craig had been mind.

Looking back, Craig could guess with embarrassment why that might have been. Still, there was no doubt that he had cherished having someone constantly backing him up.

He didn’t know how long it had been since one of them had spoken when his stomach suddenly rumbled. He then remembered how he’d donated his entire lunch to Butters. Until now, he’d been successfully pushing his hunger to the back of his mind, but now it seemed painful.

Mrs. Tweak had looked up with a start. “Are you hungry, son?” she asked, rising from the sofa.

Craig’s heart sank again at the word “son.” “I’m fine,” he said, not wanting to leave. He knew there would be ample food at home, but he wasn’t in the mood to see his family yet.

“You know, I would—I would love if you stayed for dinner,” said Mrs. Tweak timidly. She seemed nervous to suggest it, and Craig felt the same about accepting the invitation.

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” he said, also standing.

“You’re not trouble, Craig,” said Mrs. Tweak solemnly, looking him in the eye. “We could even just prepare it. Tweek used to help me cook sometimes, when he was home.” She looked away, and Craig felt a pang. He could certainly envision it.

“Okay,” he agreed finally, and they headed back into the kitchen. Glancing at the wall clock, he was surprised to see that it was already four-thirty.

“I was thinking of stir fry for dinner,” commented Mrs. Tweak, peering into the refrigerator. “How about I cut up the chicken, and you take care of the vegetables?”

“Sounds good,” said Craig, appreciative. He was fairly sure that Tweek’s mom had known he wouldn’t be comfortable with just sitting and watching her do anything. He washed his hands and set up a station on the free counter space next to the coffee makers, while Mrs. Tweak sat at the table with the chicken.

A few minutes into the quiet process, Mrs. Tweak asked, “Craig? Are you cold, honey?” and he realized he was shivering. The Tweaks’ house was always kept slightly colder than the typical household, perhaps under the assumption that anyone inside would be equipped with a hot drink at all times. He started to answer in the negative, but Mrs. Tweak was already up from the table. “I’ll get you a sweater,” she announced, washing her hands quickly before hurrying out of the room. In just a couple of minutes, she was back with a thick navy zip-up. Handing it to Craig, she washed her hands once more and returned to the table.

As Craig put it on, he was hit with the all-too-familiar scent of Mocca Java blend and realized, kicking himself for not thinking of it earlier, that the sweatshirt was indeed Tweek’s. It fit perfectly, he noted, wondering briefly how that could be possible. Pulling it on tighter, he remembered how Tweek had often worn clothing in a size or two too big.

He felt eyes on his back and turned his head slowly to meet Mrs. Tweak’s gaze. She was definitely staring, and he couldn’t quite decipher the look in her eye. They watched each other this way for a few seconds before Craig finally said slowly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered faintly, and Craig turned back around.

* * *

 

He returned home with a stomach full of home-cooked food, and promptly flipped off his mother and sister on his way upstairs when they yelled at him for not calling. Like it mattered, he thought, annoyed. As was custom for Friday nights, they’d ordered pizza.

Having taken a long drive around town before heading home, it was just past seven when he opened his bedroom door. “I saw your mom again,” he announced when Tweek lifted his head. “She’s doing really well.”

“My mom,” echoed Tweek, but Craig could see he wasn’t paying attention. Instead, his eyes were locked on Craig as he approached and took up his usual spot on the bed. He continued staring as Craig leaned back on his headboard.

“Yup,” said Craig, self-conscious. What the fuck was Tweek staring at?

“Nice sweater,” Tweek finally said, and Craig remembered too late that he had forgotten to return it at Tweek’s house. Tweek’s eyes swept over Craig’s entire body.  “It looks good on you.”

Uncomfortable, Craig suppressed the urge to cover himself up. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” he said awkwardly.

Finally, Tweek’s eyes settled back on Craig’s face. “Craig,” he asked slowly, but with a hint of a smile, “why are you wearing my sweater?”

“Your house is kinda cold,” he said, slightly more defensively than intended. He felt his face flushing as Tweek’s smile widened.

“I don’t mind,” said the ghost. He looked down at his own bare arms, revealing his scars once again as he traced a line with his thumb on his inner left forearm.

“It smells like you,” Craig surprised himself by saying. I remember the name ‘Mocca Java.’”

Tweek covered his mouth, and Craig was confused for a moment before realizing that he was trying to stifle a laugh. Removing his hand, he continued smiling at Craig. “You’re cute,” he said shortly.

Craig groaned and shut his eyes, thoroughly embarrassed. When he finally reopened them, he realized how heavy his eyelids felt.

Seeming to notice this, Tweek looked away to get rid of his grin before looking back to Craig. “Sorry,” he said unconvincingly.

“It’s whatever,” Craig said, starting to yawn. “I just didn’t realize how tired I was.”

“Maybe you should go to sleep early,” Tweek suggested.

“Maybe,” Craig tried to respond, but he was already drifting away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arr, mateys! Okay, I lied about a long wait for the next chapter this time around. Turns out the essay I was so scared of came super easily, and the other terrifying assignment I had went great. But this time I really can’t make any promises about a quick update haha. We will see. 
> 
> Some important notes about the story:   
> -At this point we are just about at the end of October  
> -There are about four more chapters of progressive storyline left, one interlude chapter, and finally a super fun epilogue that I’ve been writing in my head since I began this story five years ago  
> -Mocca Java is a real coffee blend that is real delicious  
> -It’s okay to tell me if I have a typo!! Looking back at another chapter for reference, I saw that I had spelt “Mrs. Tweak” as “Mrs. Tweek” through nearly the entire thing—how embarrassing! I’m sorry about that, guys, and I’m going to make more of an effort to edit before uploading from now on. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading!


	11. Take Me Off Your Worry List

Craig awoke to find that the room was still dark. Groggy, he shifted over to one side, surprised to see that his jeans were still on. He pulled them off and threw them onto the floor, still exhausted, before climbing under his comforter. Damn, he’d been freezing. Now slightly warmer, he drew the hood of his sweater up over his head and pulled the body of it tighter, relishing the spots that were warm from his own body heat. What was that smell…? Oh, yeah.

“Tweek?” he called out, lifting his head slightly. He was starting to remember how early he had fallen asleep, and that he had probably been in the middle of a sentence. He’d never asked Tweek to get out. He wouldn’t have stayed, right?

“What’s wrong?”

Craig looked around, his eyes alighting on Tweek by the door. “Sorry,” he said. “I was just wondering where you were.” He lowered his head back to his pillow. “What time is it?”

Tweek smiled slightly. “I don’t know, Craig. Early morning? Go back to sleep.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Craig nodded vaguely, already half-asleep once more. “Okay,” he mumbled.

He could have sworn he heard Tweek say, “Love you,” in response, but by the time he forced his eyes open again, Tweek had already vanished through the door.

* * *

November began to fly by. Craig heard that the football team had blown the semi-finals, which earned him some glares from his former teammates. Clyde and Token began clinging to him more and more in spite of it: at lunch, they would appear from nowhere to steer him to a table away from everyone else, where they would converse loudly, as though as long as they acted like nothing was wrong, Craig would go back to his usual self. He honestly tried to join in once in a while, but the conversation felt hollow and stupid. They no longer had football to talk about, or the other guys to mess around with, and small talk about classes could only go so far.

Not that Craig wanted to talk about classes, anyway. He’d never been a star student or anything, but he’d never felt overwhelmed by school before. These days, his grades told a different story. It was funny how he’d always been able to follow along with what was going on in class while spending a majority of the lesson talking with his friends. Now that all Craig did was listen to his teachers, copying down notes obediently and keeping his mouth shut, he was somehow confused in nearly every class. In the two weeks since his last visit to the Tweak home, he’d bombed exams in AP chemistry, AP English, psychology, and calculus, with a poor score on a history paper to boot. The other day, he’d even been asked to sit out of gym after getting a little too rough with Jason during a floor hockey match. Jason had started it, Craig thought bitterly to himself. Well, probably. In truth, all he could remember of the event was punching the kid in the stomach. The only class he had a handle on lately was health, but to be fair, they didn’t even have many assignments in the course.

While school was pretty miserable, though, Craig’s home life was better than ever. His parents had completely given up on making contact with him, their only interactions being telling Craig to turn off “That goddamn kids’ show” once in a while on the rare occasions that he was downstairs. His family hadn’t eaten dinner together in years, so his eating dinner on the couch during Red Racer was never questioned. On those rare occasions where one or both of his parents were home at dinner time, Craig would simply leave the remainder of whatever he’d cooked for himself and his sister on the stove and run upstairs to his room to eat.

Tweek never once complained about waiting for him to come upstairs, but the excitement showed on his face whenever Craig burst into the room. He typically waited for Craig to speak first lately, eagerly watching as Craig approached. Craig could guess what Tweek was thinking about, looking Craig up and down, and while it had made him uncomfortable in the beginning, he had long since gotten used to it—at this point, it was just funny. Tweek had never tried anything, after all: Craig would have known immediately if Tweek tried touching him, and the only instance of this was when Tweek had done so to wake him up. Though Tweek wasn’t shy about his feelings, he never acted on them. Craig felt perfectly safe with him.

It was safety in more way than one, too—while his life was getting more and more out of control, Craig knew that there would always be someone who cared about him waiting. It was relieving, honestly, to have his best friend back. Getting to know the high school-aged Tweek was interesting. He’d also noticed quickly that Mrs. Tweak’s comments about Tweek’s brainpower were no joke; the kid was _smart_. He would even try to help Craig with homework where he could, when asked.

Spending so much time together, Craig’s childhood memories with Tweek came flooding back. When Craig wasn’t going on and on about his existential crisis, he was asking “Remember when…?” Of course, Tweek remembered everything. At first, Craig felt even guiltier for ever having let those memories go, but when he’d shared this, Tweek had shut him down right away.

“It’s okay,” he had said. “You just forgot for a little while. Now we’re here, so who cares?”

On a cold Saturday morning more than halfway through November, Craig was perched on his bed holding a Terrance and Phillip mug, nervous to take a sip, when he heard someone banging on the front door from downstairs. He ignored it, looking up at Tweek, whose outline quivered slightly faster at the noise. “It kind of smells weird,” he said, eyeing the cup apprehensively. Having purchased a bag of coffee on Tweek’s recommendation, he’d brewed it in his dad’s French press to the exact specifications dictated by his friend. Staring into the mug, he wasn’t sure. “It’s called ‘Red Goat?’”

Tweek nodded reassuringly. “You’ll like it,” he said. “It’s earthy.”

“Earthy?” questioned Craig, taking another sniff. “I don’t know if I like earthy.”

“Jesus,” said Tweek, holding his forehead in his hand. “I would kill to drink that right now. You’ll like it, okay? Think more caramel than earth. Don’t you trust me?”

Craig glanced over at Tweek, laughing at his exasperated posture. “Yeah,” he answered, and took a sip. “Holy shit,” he said, “that’s really good.”

“I _know_ ,” Tweek whined, and Craig laughed again. Whoever was at the door knocked again. “Isn’t your family out?”

“Fuck. Yes, they are,” he said, handing the mug to Tweek before sliding off his bed. “I’ll be right back.”

“This is just cruel,” called Tweek after him, and he snickered as he tore down the stairs.

At the door was Token, poised to knock again when Craig opened it. The smile faded from the latter’s face. “Hey dude,” he said. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too,” said Token, his voice sounding pained. “Craig, we need to talk.”

Craig squinted up at the grey sky and breathed slowly, noticing he could see his breath. “Okay,” he said. “About what?”

“Can I come in?” Token asked. “Or will you come out? We could get breakfast.”

Nodding slowly, Craig turned the lock on the door and stepped outside, shutting it behind him. “Let’s sit here,” he suggested, sitting down himself on the front step.

Token looked at the door before obliging. “Is someone here?” he asked, looking pointedly at the driveway, where only his own car and Craig’s were parked.

“Yeah,” replied Craig without thinking. He noticed where Token’s eyes had gone and cursed to himself. “What is this about?” he asked, changing the subject. He thought of his coffee upstairs, more delicious than any he had ever tasted. He hoped it wasn’t getting cold in Tweek’s grasp. It was so weird how Tweek could hold stuff.

He cut off this train of thought and looked over to see Token sizing him up. “Craig,” Token said, “I’m really worried about you lately.”

“Why?” asked Craig dully, already wishing the conversation would end. Of course he could foresee what Token would be bringing up, but he had no wish to hear it.

Token seemed to hear his thoughts. “You know why,” he said. “You’re not yourself anymore. And I’m not just saying that you’re changing—it’s the _way_ that you’re changing, dude. You quit football. You’re not speaking to anybody. And I’m sorry, but I saw your score on that English test. We could have studied together, you know?” He sounded apologetic about this last confession, but Craig was already annoyed anyway.

“What are you saying?” he asked tensely. He was tempted to get up and just go back inside, pretending the whole thing never happened and finishing his coffee.

“Maybe…please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m seeing…I’m seeing warning signs. Craig, maybe you should see someone. Like a counselor.”

“Like, no thanks,” said Craig sardonically. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

Token’s eyes softened. “Of course not,” he said quickly, gracefully ignoring Craig’s rudeness. “But it’s natural to need someone new to talk to when…when you go through a trauma.”

Craig exhaled again, watching the puff of air dissolve. “And what trauma did I go through, Token?”

“You know. The Tweek thing.”

“What Tweek thing?”

“Craig!”

Looking back to Token, Craig felt slightly bad for being a smartass. Token’s voice had been sharp, but his expression conveyed only worry. He looked for a minute into Token’s eyes, struggling to…To what? To feel something?

He resisted the urge to laugh, finally understanding his own antagonism for this discussion. He knew his friends cared about him, sure. But Craig didn’t _care_ that they cared. It was a selfishness he had never recognized in himself, but acknowledging it now, the whole thing just seemed absurd. Token had made a house call. He had woken up, driven to Craig’s house, and banged on the door until somebody answered. Who the fuck does that? It was so unbelievably thoughtful, and here was Craig, trying and failing to scrape up even the tiniest bit of interest. He wondered what Tweek would say about all this. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, hoping he sounded sincere.

Token swallowed, and Craig knew immediately that he had failed. He tried not to laugh. “Craig?” Token finally asked carefully.

“Yes?”

“You’re wearing Tweek’s hoodie.”

Craig froze, still staring into Token’s eyes. Whatever had seemed funny before had fast faded. What could he say? Should he deny it?

“Why do you have that, Craig?”

In a daze, Craig jumped to his feet. “I should get back inside,” he said quietly. “Uh, Ruby—“

“Fine,” said Token, standing slowly. He continued watching Craig. “You know that I care about you, though, right? That I’m here? And Clyde?”

Craig nodded quickly, hoping to get Token out of there as fast as possible. He heard his dad’s car pull into the driveway behind him and turned, watching in horror as his mother and sister got out of the car. He looked back at Token, but was speechless.

Token was watching the car too, his expression unintelligible. After a moment, he blinked slowly. “I’ll see you at school,” he said finally. He turned to Craig for a final look. “You can always call me, okay?”

“Sure,” choked out Craig, and his friend walked off, stopping to greet Craig’s family. Craig opened the door and high-tailed it back into the house, speeding up the stairs and straight into his room, the door of which was still open. Closing it behind him, he saw Tweek was standing, facing the bed. The mug of coffee sat forgotten on the floor. ”Sorry about that,” Craig started, somewhat breathless.

Tweek’s head perked up, and he turned around. “I saw the corner poking out, and couldn’t help myself,” he said, and Craig cringed when he realized that Tweek was holding the football game photo Mrs. Tweak had given him. “Craig, you sleep with this under your pillow?”

Craig approached sluggishly. “Uh,” he said dumbly. He didn’t have an explanation; he didn’t have any motivation whatsoever for having kept the picture there. He was pretty sure he had just forgotten it. Still, saying that wasn’t going to wipe the elated smile off Tweek’s face. “I got it from—”

“I know where you got it from,” said Tweek. “I’ve looked at this picture a million times.” He glanced down at it. “This is my favourite, too.”

Choosing the change-the-subject strategy, Craig said, “You know, I think I’m going to remake that coffee,” and picking up the mug from the floor, retreated from the room.

When he came back upstairs, Tweek was sitting in his usual spot once more, but was still looking at the photo. Craig watched from the doorway for a moment before returning to the bed. “I don’t have an explanation for that,” he started, but Tweek shook his head.

“You don’t need one,” he said, and looked up at Craig. “You never have to try to explain yourself to me.”

Craig paused before scooting over to sit next to Tweek, the first time he’d ever done so. He looked at the picture again before balancing his mug on the footboard of his bed. “Can I ask you kind of an awkward question?”

“Of course.”

Craig swallowed, wondering what was possessing him to ask—but suddenly, he just felt that he had to. “When did you know?” he asked. He watched as Tweek slowly lifted his head and slowly turned his gaze to look at him, and tried frantically to think of something else he could say to alleviate the tension he was suddenly feeling in the air.

Tweek looked solemn, but Craig was relieved to hear mirth in his tone. “I don’t know,” he said, thankfully seeming to understand exactly what Craig had meant by this question. “Maybe…within five minutes of meeting you?”

Startled, Craig wondered how to respond. “But…That was like, preschool,” he protested.

“Sure,” chuckled Tweek. “But I thought you were the coolest kid ever. You weren’t scared of anything.”

“We didn’t even start being friends until third grade!” Craig pressed. “And we had a fight, remember?”

“We only fought because the other kids told us to,” Tweek pointed out.

It was true, and Craig had to think about what to say next. “Well…You never said anything until high school,” he said slowly.

Now Tweek nodded, watching Craig closely. “I came out during summer before freshman year started.”

“Not to me, though,” Craig responded, almost in a whisper.

He remembered how he had found out. Tweek had told Kenny first, of all people. Kenny had spread the word to his shitty little friends, and Eric Cartman had made sure that everyone in their class knew long before school started. It was actually Stan who had given the news to Craig. And Craig had just flipped out.

Even back then, he wasn’t really sure why he had been so upset. Maybe deep down, he had always known how Tweek had felt about him. But the confirmation that Tweek wasn’t into girls had sent Craig running in the other direction, and he hadn’t hung out with Tweek for the rest of the summer. Slowly, Token and Clyde lost touch with him, too. By Christmas break freshman year, Butters had become Tweek’s only friend.

Tweek was looking away, now. “I didn’t think Kenny would tell anyone,” he said bitterly. “I was going to tell you first. But Kenny asked me point-blank.”

Craig blinked. He hadn’t heard this particular detail. “Why would he do that?” he asked, feeling angry for Tweek.

“I don’t know,” Tweek said. “I was helping my dad close the store one night, and he made me take out the trash. I was really scared, so I was trying to hurry. But Kenny was on the sidewalk talking to somebody, and he saw me probably shaking, and came over. He said he would come with me, to make sure nothing bad would happen. So we started talking. He said it was too bad we didn’t know each other better, since I was always hanging out with you.” He looked back at Craig, and his expression conveyed his anger at the memory. “He said, ‘Tweek, be honest. You like him, don’t you?’ It didn’t sound mean at the time, but looking back, I guess he was just trying to make fun of me.”

“Tweek…” Craig felt sick. He’d been friends with Kenny all through high school. His own idiocy and homophobia aside, it must have crushed Tweek even further to see Craig hanging out with Kenny, the person who had ruined everything, for all that time.

“He’s not a good person, Craig,” said Tweek darkly. “Even after all that, he…Well, forget it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be speaking ill of your friends. I just don’t like him.”

“He’s not my friend,” said Craig fervently. He watched as Tweek sighed. “You’re my friend.”

“You know,” began Tweek, “no matter what, that I always loved you, right?”

Hoping the subject change meant that Tweek had calmed down, Craig reached behind him for his coffee and took a swig. “Sure,” he said. “I can’t imagine why, though.”

Tweek surveyed him thoughtfully. “You really don’t know how special you are,” he murmured.

Craig knew he was blushing and hated it. “I guess not,” he said.

“You always took care of me,” posited Tweek. He began to smile once more. “I always knew I was safe if you were there. Even when I was scared, I knew nothing bad could happen, because you wouldn’t let it happen. You always tried to make me happy, too. Every single time that I called you, you answered. And if I said I was all alone at home, you would tell me to come over. Or send Clyde or Token to make sure I was okay.” He started rubbing at the scars on one arm, and Craig tried not to watch. “You knew exactly how to calm me down, cheer me up…and if one of the other kids made fun of me, you would tell them off. For years, you did all that. How could I have helped loving you?”

In all honesty, Craig could hardly remember making a conscious effort to do all that. He recalled bringing Tweek down from a fit of panic every now and again, but everything else Tweek was describing was just…the way he was.

 Still, he didn’t want to criticize Tweek for perceiving things in a certain way, especially since it was way too late to change anything. And if all of those things were true, then… Maybe Craig could see how it all made sense.

* * *

It had been a long day at school, and Craig just wanted to get out of there. Mondays really were the worst, he decided, heading back towards the locker rooms. He’d gotten all the way out to his car before realizing the notes he needed for a midterm study guide weren’t in his bag. Already annoyed, he’d spent the next twenty minutes of his life rifling through his perhaps somewhat disorganized locker, finding nothing there, either. Eventually, he had realized he may have crammed them into his gym locker at one point, and he decided to give the search one last shot.

Pulling open the door of the locker room, he looked around before entering. With the sports seasons’ end, the locker rooms were mercifully pretty deserted after school hours. Still, he’d rather be careful not to run into the type of guys who would usually hang out in there.

His locker was in the somewhat isolated back corner of the room, hidden behind the shower stalls and small coach’s office. He, Clyde, and Token had shown up early on the first day of school to claim this prime real estate. There were only four lockers there, and the fourth had been Corey Lanskin’s, a soccer player who was rarely there when the football players were. As such, the three had had the freedom to talk shit about whomever they’d wanted, since it was far enough away from the other lockers to afford some privacy. As an added bonus, unless someone was in the coach’s office or one of the closest shower stalls, Craig could sit down in front of his locker and go unseen, should anyone enter the locker room. After pulling out the massive stack of papers he’d shoved inside over the course of the school year so far, this is exactly what Craig did.

“Come on…come on,” Craig muttered as he tore through the stack of papers. He’d looked everywhere else. The English notes had to be in here. But as luck would have it, he heard the door open, and promptly sat back. From his position, he couldn’t see who had come in, but he heard at least three pairs of shoes.

“No fucking way I’m writing five pages about Sigmund Freud,” said the first voice, which Craig immediately recognized as Cartman’s. Great. “That guy was obsessed with dicks.”

“So you have a lot to talk about, then. You’re the same way,” came Jason’s low voice.

“Nah, not Cartman,” said a third voice. Kenny. “Clyde, maybe.”

Craig rolled his eyes at the weak joke, but Cartman and Kenny were snickering. “Whatever, dude,” said Jason. After a pause during which Cartman kept laughing, he went on, “Why is that so funny? Ken?”

“Dude, the Token thing?” Kenny asked. “…Wait, you didn’t know?”

By this point, Craig had stopped all breathing, praying he wouldn’t be noticed. What the fuck were they talking about? Not that it was unlike these clowns to bullshit, but Kenny actually sounded like he had something to say. He wracked his brains, trying to think about what it could possibly be.

“Weak,” chortled Cartman, breathless from laughter. “I thought everybody knew about that.”

“No!” answered Jason, sounding intrigued. “What are you talking about?”

“No shit dude,” said Kenny, and the three all stopped going through their lockers. The room was silent, with Craig still holding his breath. “Clyde sucked Token’s _dick_ sophomore year.”

“No fucking way,” roared Jason, as Cartman resumed his cackling. “Don’t make shit up.”

“I swear on my life,” said Kenny, and Jason started laughing, too. “Okay, I realize how that sounded. Cartman, swear on your life. You saw them.”

“Swear,” Cartman choked. “Fucking sick, man. I mean, Clyde was high, and who knows what Token was on. But still, dude. It was at that fucking New Year’s party.”

“Son of a bitch,” breathed Jason. “I was there, dude.”

Kenny slammed his locker shut and leaned against it. “We were all there,” he said, clearly enjoying the subject matter. “Cartman came running downstairs like the house was on fire and fucking told all of us. Stan was gonna go up there and look, but Wendy stopped him, like, ‘That’s not funny, you guys,’” he quoted in a mimicking voice. “So I went up there instead. They were both passed out, but Token had his dick out still.”

Jason began to join in the laughter. “Wait,” he snickered, “so everyone knew about this except me?”

“Oh yeah,” said Cartman. “Well, I don’t think Craig was there. I don’t know if they told him. The rest of us gave them plenty of shit for it, though, so I’m sure he heard about it somehow. I’m surprised you didn’t.”

Meanwhile, Craig was frozen in his spot. No, he had never heard about this. People cracked jokes about Token and Clyde all the time, so anything he’d heard, he would have assumed to be a joke. Hell, he’d even _made_ some of those jokes. And all this time…How the hell had they never told him any of this? What, were they gay? He was shocked, confused, stunned…but even more so, he felt an intense anger welling up in his head.

“Craig,” whistled Jason. “Now, there’s a kid who’s fucked up.”

“For real,” agreed Cartman. “What is going on with that kid? Fucking asshole for quitting the team.”

“You guys remember that assembly last month? About Tweek?” asked Kenny.

“Oh my God,” Cartman said, starting to laugh yet again. “What the fuck was all that.”

“I love how he thinks he’s better than us,” Jason put in. “Sure, we roughed up Tweek. But we were trying to _protect_ Craig, dude; he wanted us to do it. Tweek was fucking nuts, honestly.”

“Stalker,” Cartman commented.

“And then Craig tries to put all the blame on us, like we killed the kid? Like we ever did anything worse to him than Craig did? Who’s he fucking kidding. Trying to pretend like he gives a shit all of a sudden. Like, okay, kid,” finished Jason angrily.

“Tweek really was fucked up,” added Kenny. “I mean, I’m sorry about what happened to him. But the shit he would say was out of line. Crazy talk.”

“For real,” Cartman joined in. “God, I remember some of that shit. ‘You don’t even know him,’ he would say. ‘You don’t know anything about him like I do.’ I mean, sure? If that’s what you want to tell yourself. Go ahead and pretend like we aren’t all friends with Craig. Fine. You own the Craig monopoly. The rest of us are just peasants who never met the kid, right? Not like we’ve been playing football with him for years like normal people.”

Jason grunted his agreement, and there was a brief pause before anyone spoke again. “But now Craig’s about as fucked up as Tweek ever was. Jesus, look at him lately,” said Kenny finally.

“If Craig shoots up the school, I swear to God,” laughed Cartman, and the two remaining locker doors closed. Soon after, Craig heard the trio leaving the room.

Craig stayed where he was for a good five minutes after they had left. It was less that he was scared of being discovered, though, and more that getting up felt impossible. If the story was true—which Craig believed it was; for all of Kenny’s faults, he was no liar—then this meant that Clyde and Token had been keeping this from him for nearly two years. Could they really be gay? It didn’t seem possible: Token had been in a relationship with a cheerleader, Nichole, from middle school up until spring of junior year, and Clyde, like Craig himself, was always with some random girl. Still, they had hidden the truth about the incident so well that Craig would never have guessed. He thought back to all of the gay jokes he had made about them over the long course of their friendship: had there ever been a reaction beyond a shove or a “fuck you?” Not that he had noticed, but as he was learning lately, Craig had been a jerk for a long time now.

Finally managing to lean forward, he spotted the page of notes he’d needed in the large pile of papers in his lap. Crinkling it up in his hand, he grabbed the rest of the stack and, standing, slam dunked it all in the trash.

* * *

“Craig, what’s up? Are you okay?”

Clyde, in his puffy red coat, was jogging towards the spot where Token had already joined Craig next to Stark’s Pond. The night air was freezing for only 7:00 PM.

When Craig had finally dug his phone out of his drawer as soon as he’d gotten home, there had been 102 messages and 61 missed calls since he’d last checked it. Predictably, most of them were from Token or Clyde. He’d snorted before writing a message of his own: _Can you guys meet me by the pond at 7?_

All the while, Tweek had been worried. “Craig, you look really freaked out,” he’d said, but Craig couldn’t bring himself to pay attention. He _was_ freaked out, for reasons he wasn’t sure of at the time. All he’d known was that he had to confront them. Both of them had texted him back within minutes.

Actually, Craig had been waiting by the pond for them ever since. He hadn’t wanted to bring any of this up to Tweek, feeling he ought to at least confirm the story before even considering doing so. So he’d grabbed his own coat, knowing that the sun would set long before the arrival of his friends.

Now sitting atop a picnic table nearby the bank of the pond, he watched Clyde stop in front of him. He glanced at Token before meeting Craig’s eye, which only made Craig’s stomach clench. “What’s going on?” Clyde tried again. 

Craig sighed before speaking. “You know,” he started, “you guys have been my best friends for a really long time.” He watched as they both nodded at him, waiting for him to continue. “And for all this time, it felt so good knowing that I had two best friends who would never, _ever_ lie to me.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Never lie, or never hide the truth.”

“What is this about?” asked Token, sounding worried.

His voice strained, Craig went on. “I found out about something today. Something about the two of you at a New Year’s party sophomore year. And I would like to know if it is true.”

It wouldn’t take a genius to realize right away that it was. Clyde turned away immediately, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets. Token’s eyes simply closed, biting his lip. Craig waited a moment, observing them, before he spoke again. “I see. And how long has this been going on?”

Token’s eyes flew open again, rolling his eyes in what appeared to be an attempt to keep from tearing up. “Nothing is going on,” he said quietly. “It was a one-time thing, a _mistake_ , and something neither of us particularly wanted to revisit.”

Slowly, Clyde turned back to face Craig, now crossing his arms and hunching into himself. “We had both taken E, and had a few drinks beforehand. Neither of us even remember it happening. We just woke up and…Cartman told us,” he finished awkwardly.

Craig stared at him. “Ecstasy,” he said curtly. “Really.”

“From Gregory,” Clyde clarified.

“Gregory.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Token put in desperately. “Craig, we swear. It’s just an embarrassing thing that…that we both want to forget about.”

Craig leaned his head on his hand and gazed at Token. “It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he said, hearing how eerily calm his voice sounded. “I could believe that story. But I could also wonder why you chose not to tell me, considering all the other guys knew.” Token opened his mouth, but Craig waved his free hand at him. “Since to the best of your knowledge, I would find out from one of them anyway, I could reasonably question why you wanted to keep this from me specifically, couldn’t I.” It didn’t come out as much of a question.

Clyde shuffled his feet a bit, presumably trying to keep warm. Token simply stayed quiet, staring open-mouthed back at Craig. Since neither of them seemed able to come up with anything, he chose to let the words keep spewing from his mouth, beyond his brain’s control. “I’ve gone over this again and again, trying to think up some justification. And only one thought kept coming back to me: that maybe, just maybe, this was about Tweek.”

Both of his friends looked surprised, and Token glanced at Clyde before asking, “Craig, what could you possibly mean by that?”

Blinking, Craig frowned. “Well, we all know why Tweek killed himself, don’t we? Craig and his football goons bullied him into it. Everybody knows that.” He turned his gaze on Clyde. “You were the only ones who never did anything to him, of course. I guess what I’m wondering is whether you two never told me because you thought I would turn on you. The rest of the guys knew and they never pushed you around the way they did Tweek, though, so why worry about them? The answer is that you two are so _scared_ of me that you thought I could somehow convince all of our friends to do what they did to Tweek, which was my fault. You thought I would do that to you. You don’t really look at me like your friend. You think I’m a monster.”

When he finished, both Token and Clyde were staring at him, wide-eyed. It was Token who managed to speak first. “Craig, no, we don’t,” he said. “That’s not it at all.”

Craig finally jumped down from the table and stared at him from eye level. “Isn’t it, though?” he asked, his voice strained. “And even after Tweek was dead, you didn’t tell me. You two have had this secret for years, and you were always too scared to tell me.”

“We weren’t scared,” Clyde protested weakly. “We just didn’t…We didn’t want you to—”

“You didn’t want me to know, because that would really ruin your lives. Everyone else could know, but not me,” Craig finished for him. He looked wildly between his two friends. “You guys think—you thought I would’ve thought you were gay? And that I’d freak out?”

“Craig,” Token sighed.

“ _What else is there that I don’t know?”_ Craig asked, his voice now close to a yell. “What else have you two decided is too delicate for me to know?”

“Nothing!” cried Clyde.

“Nothing,” repeated Craig loudly. His thoughts were a mess and he knew he had to get out of there. “You guys just don’t trust me at all. You know what? I probably shouldn’t be trusting you, either.”

As he made to walk around Clyde toward the parking lot, Token reached out and grabbed his arm. “Please just talk to us,” he begged. “Let us explain.”

“Craig,” Clyde said, reaching out to pull Craig close. “We’re really scared that we’re losing you. Please don’t walk away from us.”

But Craig threw him off. “Just stop,” he choked out. “I really can’t do this right now.” Choosing to ignore the remainder of their protests, he walked quickly back to his car.

He was confused, upset, and _embarrassed._ He needed Tweek again, and quickly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, am I right? What a tangled web we weave. My apologies for the monster length of this chapter.
> 
> Also, I just want to thank all of you angels who commented, favourited, followed, etc. on the last chapter, or any of the others really. Since I recently picked up this story again I was expecting no one to even notice, but the responses I’ve been getting mean so much to me. Even when I wasn’t updating, I spent the last four years writing this thing in my head, and I love all of you for joining in the fun with me. Y’all have no idea how deeply care about this story--I literally have a spotify playlist, a pinterest board, a word document full of notes, and MS-paint drawn diagrams of the boys’ houses—and it blows my mind to know that there are finally other people along for the ride with me. You guys are the greatest! I know I stink at responding to every review, but I read every single one and value everyone’s thoughts so much. I am ever so grateful to all of you.
> 
> Finally, someone from ff.net asked if they could draw art based on this story. If anyone else gets inspired, I'll say preemptively to go ahead! As long as you aren't claiming any of my work to be yours.
> 
> -Cpt. Essex Cole


	12. The Eyes That Lost You

“So this whole time, they’d been hiding it from me,” Craig finished. “And I mean—it has to be because they never trusted me, what with the way I was treating you.”

They weren’t in their usual spots—cross-legged and opposite each other. Craig had come home from his confrontation with Clyde and Token shaking, and Tweek had been alarmed immediately. “What’s wrong?” he’d asked frantically, jumping up from the bed as Craig paced around his room. “What’s going on? Don’t hide this from me, please, Craig.”

Finally, Craig had been persuaded to lie down. And while Tweek had considerately perched on the footboard, allowing Craig space, he hadn’t wasted any time in shooting forward when Craig beckoned him closer. And so they lay together, Craig with his feet flat and knees bent toward the ceiling, his hands resting on his stomach; Tweek, on his side supporting his head with his left hand, leaning against the wall and being careful not to touch Craig. He listened with his eyes wide as Craig recalled what had happened.

When Craig had finished, he waited for a minute, assuming Tweek would comment. Hearing nothing, however, he asked, “You’re not even surprised about this?”

He turned his head slightly to look at Tweek, who bit his lip. “I knew,” the ghost admitted simply.

“How?” Craig asked incredulously.

“Butters told me. He was there that night.”

Craig’s head somehow sunk further into the pillow. “So literally everyone knew except me.”

“I guess so, Craig. But I’m not sure that that means what you think it means.” He kept his gaze steady as Craig’s brow furrowed. “They were embarrassed to tell you. It’s not like they told everybody themselves. Kenny told everyone, as usual. And you just said that Jason didn’t know, either. So it’s not that they _wanted_ everyone to know except for you exclusively. They just hoped you wouldn’t find out about the gayest thing they’ve ever done. I thought that’s how all straight guys worked.”

At this, Craig had to grant Tweek a snort of laughter. “You think all straight guys have some secret gay experience? I don’t.”

“Craig, this right now is pretty gay,” Tweek pointed out.

Craig paused to lift his head, after which he saw that Tweek was at most three inches away from him at the furthest. “I’ll move over,” he offered.

“Well, I’m not complaining. Just saying.”

Craig sighed, sinking his head down again and closing his eyes. “I just don’t get why they wouldn’t tell _me_. We’re supposed to be best friends. And I mean, I could believe their defense. They were high, or drunk, or whatever. Weirder things have happened under lesser circumstances.”

Tweek nodded slightly. “Okay, but you just said you _could_ believe it. Not that you _do_ believe it.” Before Craig could interject, he continued, “I’m not saying they’re right and you’re wrong. Maybe they should have told you, sure. They should have told you a long time ago. But they didn’t. So what are you going to do about it?”

“I just don’t feel comfortable around them anymore,” Craig said slowly. “Not because I think they’re gay or anything, but I _do_ think there’re probably a lot of things they haven’t told me. I’m sick of people keeping me in the dark.”

“That’s okay,” Tweek answered gently. “You don’t owe them anything. I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision for _you._ ”

Craig opened his eyes again. “I appreciate that.” He thought for a moment, then added, “I would also appreciate a change of subject now.”

Tweek smiled. “Fine with me,” he said. “I don’t suppose there’s anything else you need to get off your chest?”

“Believe it or not, there isn’t, for now,” Craig replied with a laugh. He turned his head to look at Tweek again. “Actually, I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“When you first, uh, showed up, you said you had some kind of task. How’s that going? Is it still a secret?”

Tweek’s smile didn’t fade. “I still can’t tell you about it,” he confirmed. “And I would say it’s going very well.”

“Do you like, work on it when I’m at school?”

“Yes.”

Craig sat up halfway, leaning back on his elbows. “Do you think I could guess what it is?” he asked thoughtfully.

“You could guess all you wanted, but I’d never answer,” Tweek said, his eyes following Craig’s movement. “If I told you about it, it’d all be over.”

“Over? What would that mean?”

“Means I would go back to hell right away.”

Craig thought before responding. He hadn’t actually considered the idea that Tweek might indeed leave his world again at some point. The thought brought a lump to his throat. “And when you’ve done what you’re supposed to do…You’ll go back to hell? Or heaven?” he guessed.

“You know I can’t answer that,” Tweek reminded him.

 The lump grew and Craig swallowed. “I don’t want you to go back,” he confessed. “At all.”

Tweek hummed. “I’ll work slowly,” promised.

* * *

 

Craig approached the next day apprehensively. He knew he needed time away from Clyde and Token, the last two people on Earth he’d considered friends besides Tweek. Consequently, classes were even more uncomfortable to sit through than before. He tried to focus on the class content, he really did. But his thoughts were unruly and wandered off before he’d even copied down a single bullet point.

Avoiding his friends—if they were truly his friends, after everything—was, at least, blessedly simple. They shot him pained looks when they saw him in the hallways, but otherwise, they made no attempt to initiate contact. Craig thought back to his theory that they were scared of him and had to push away waves of discomfort with himself. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing, but he knew that solitude felt right. Anyway, knowing that he at least had Tweek waiting for him at home was some comfort.

When the telltale lunch bell rang, Craig knew where to go. With a heavier paper bag than usual in hand, he headed to the far corner of the cafeteria by the trash cans. “Hey,” he muttered in greeting to Butters.

“Craig, hi! Uh, it’s been a while,” Butters said, looking pathetically surprised and grateful for Craig’s company. He finished scribbling a note in the margin of a thick book—Craig suspected it was an SAT guide—before looking up to watch Craig sit down. “How are you?”

“Fine.” As expected, not a single food item was in sight amongst Butters’ study materials. Craig opened his lunch bag and pulled out the sandwich, the plastic bag of carrots, and the Tupperware container of applesauce he’d brought for the poor kid. “These are for you,” he murmured, pushing them towards him.

Butters stared down at the offerings wide-eyed and pink-faced before looking back at Craig. He looked like he might protest, but as he watched Craig produce the food he’d brought for himself without comment, he seemed to reconsider. “Gee, thanks,” he said meekly, hesitating before reaching for the sandwich first.

Craig said nothing, simply taking a bite of his own sandwich. Butters might be taken aback under the assumption that this was an act of kindness. It wasn’t. While Craig really did feel for Butters’ personal situation, his decision to bring him food was payment. Payment for allowing Craig a spot to sit where he didn’t have to struggle to “act normal,” and payment for taking care of Tweek for the three years Craig had failed to do so. No matter how things had ended with Tweek, Craig knew that Butters had tried to help him. Maybe he’d even thought Tweek was his best friend, too. For trying, Butters deserved at least a lunch and a person to share it with, even if Craig couldn’t really manage to be social.

When he felt that he was being stared at, though, Craig looked up. “Something wrong?” he asked, seeing his intuition had been correct.

“No! I’m sorry! I don’t mean to be creepy or anything.” Butters looked awkwardly away as he took a bite. “It’s just…you’ve really surprised me. You’re not at all who I thought you were, I guess.”

“Who did you think I was?” Craig suspected the answer wouldn’t be anything positive, which was actually his motivation for asking. “Be honest,” he added in encouragement.

Butters chewed, looking thoughtful. “Well,” he said, swallowing, “I guess, I uh, thought you were a little mean.”

“Just a little?” Craig pressed. He repeated himself: “Be honest.”

 “Gosh, Craig.” His sandwich gone, Butters reached for the applesauce. “We barely talked in football, so most of what I thought came from how you treated Tweek, and what Tweek said about you, I guess.”

“What did he say?”

Butters took a large bite of applesauce, somehow managing to make the act look sheepish. “Well, I knew you and the guys were kind of, uh, pickin’ on him.”

Craig nodded impatiently. “Yeah, we were. But what did he say?” He wanted someone to just _tell_ him he was a scumbag.

Wrinkling his nose, Butters squinted at Craig. “It was like he was obsessed with you,” he admitted finally. “Even when he was angry about getting hit, he’d never blame anything on you directly. He’d sit right where you’re sittin’ now, and he’d vent a little bit about the others. He really hated Kenny and Cartman, I think. But even when you were involved with whatever had happened, he’d say, ‘He just doesn’t know yet. He’ll see.’ Things like that. And if he hadn’t been picked on yet that day, or if the teasing just wasn’t too bad, he’d go on and on. Like—‘He’s not one of them, he belongs to me. I know we’re going to be together.’ A lot of stuff like that. Honestly, Craig, some of it didn’t even make sense. It was all a little weird.” He looked apologetic, and it irritated Craig.

“What do you mean, ‘a little weird?’” he asked. “It just sounds like a crush. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Butters seemed taken aback, but he pushed aside his applesauce and leaned in to elaborate his point. “No, listen, Craig,” he said lowly. “It wasn’t healthy. Sometimes he scared me a little bit. One time I tried to tell him he should think about meeting new guys or something, and he freaked out. He was yelling about how everything was about _you_ , not him.  He said there was no way there could ever be anyone but you, and if I didn’t believe that, I should just stay away from him. Craig…It was definitely weird. I actually thought that if he didn’t hurt himself someday, he might try to hurt you.”

Craig was now thoroughly annoyed with Butters’ bullshit. “He would never hurt me,” he snarled. “And if you thought he was a danger to himself, why didn’t you try to talk to a counselor or something? Because if you’ll remember, Butters, he _did_ hurt himself. I hope you’re not actually fucking saying you thought he might do that beforehand.”

Red-faced, Butters sat back. “I told his dad,” he said quietly. “I told him about everything. He said he’d take care of it. That was a week before he died.”

While he accepted this answer, Craig was still pretty fucking pissed. “Well, I don’t like the way you’re talking about him now,” he said. “You’re probably just remembering wrong. And besides, it’s not cool to try to make him sound bad when he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Craig, that’s not—”

“What, it’s not what you meant? You don’t _mean_ to spread lies about him? Look, I know Tweek. He’s not like that.” Butters was staring blankly, and Craig wanted to smack him for it. “If he could hear you now, I bet he’d be pretty disappointed to find out you were never really his friend.”

Butters seemed ready to speak again, but Craig was over it. He stood, kicking back his chair as he snatched up his lunch bag. Tossing the food he hadn’t finished back inside of it, he finished, “It’d be nice if you watched your mouth, Butters,” and left, rage swelling inside.

* * *

 

His last class of the day was English, and he trudged into the classroom with dread. Token was staring at him from their usual seats in the far back corner by the window, so he naturally sat in the front row all the way to the right—the closest seat to the door. His bag was packed and his keys were ready so he wouldn’t need to visit his locker again before making a break for the parking lot when school ended. Usually Ms. Wong left him alone, anyway, so he at least took comfort knowing he could daydream through the period. His current C+ was inching steadily to a C-, so he really ought to pay attention, but he couldn’t make himself care. He glanced at the clock as the second bell rang, signaling the start of class. _Just fifty more minutes._

Countless distraction possibilities slid through Craig’s mind. Should he go to the gym later? He’d skipped Saturday. Okay, he’d go to the gym. Should he make Ruby dinner first or just go right after school and cook later? Nah, he wanted to go at night. He’d make Ruby her favourite stir-fry. There was a pound of chicken in the fridge that needed to be used up, anyway. Too bad his useless fucking parents couldn’t bother to make their own kids some food once in a while. It’s not like Craig volunteered to do everything.

Jesus, what was Ms. Wong wearing. Usually he didn’t notice girls’ clothes much at all, but thanks to this lady, he’d learned the term _gaucho pants_. How many pairs could one person own? The print reminded him of the drapes in his grandma’s cat’s bedroom. Why did his grandma’s cat need its own bedroom? What did the cat do to deserve a room to its shitty fucking self? How did the cat feel about those ugly-ass drapes? Did cats form opinions about décor?

Still, at least cats were better than most people. At least if your cat was an asshole, you knew it’d always be an asshole. Cats weren’t one way to your face and another behind your back. Cats didn’t lie to you about having sex with other cats or pretend to be all nice and then talk shit about your dead cat friends.

Craig rested his head on his hand and glared at the clock. Shit, only fifteen minutes had gone by since he’d last complained to himself about the time. That meant thirty more minutes of class. He’d be counting them down, for sure. He wondered if Tweek ever looked at the clock waiting for him to come home. He smiled.

“It’s about love that transcends.”

Pausing to listen for a second to what was going on in class, he heard Wendy talking. Ugh, of course. The one drawback to the spot he’d chosen was that it was right next to Wendy’s desk. Wendy lived for the front-row action of academics, he thought scathingly. He glanced at the board for the page they were supposed to be on in their textbook, and he flipped to it, just for kicks. Scanning the page, he saw that they were discussing what was titled as “Sonnet 55.” Shakespeare wrote sonnets? As if the plays weren’t boring enough. He read it quickly:

 _Not marble, nor the gilded monuments_  
_Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;_  
 _But you shall shine more bright in these contents_  
 _Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time._  
 _When wasteful war shall statues overturn,_  
 _And broils root out the work of masonry,_  
 _Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn_  
 _The living record of your memory._  
 _'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity_  
 _Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room_  
 _Even in the eyes of all posterity_  
 _That wear this world out to the ending doom._  
 _So, till the judgment that yourself arise,_  
 _You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes._

“Good answer, Wendy. Would you like to elaborate?” asked their teacher enthusiastically. Craig looked over and saw Wendy nodding, a big smile on her face. She just loved when teachers gave her attention. At least Butters was quiet about being a better student than everybody else.

“Sure. I really like this,” Wendy was saying, her eyes glued to the words on the page. “Shakespeare is saying that no matter how much time passes, the memory of the fair youth will always last. Although states may crumble, and buildings will be lost to age, the fair youth will be immortalized through Shakespeare’s words.”

“Who’s the fair youth?” Craig heard himself asking her. The heads of everyone in the classroom turned to stare at him. Somehow, he managed to keep his middle finger down. It shouldn’t be that much of a fucking surprise that he asked a question. He was in this class like everybody else.

Wendy was looking at him too, but she didn’t seem stunned. Rather, she looked at Craig with intrigue. “The fair youth was Shakespeare’s boyfriend,” she said, her voice lacking the snobbery that Craig had expected. “Well, possibly just a friend. But there Shakespeare wrote a ton of sonnets for him, and they all read as love poems to me.”

“Good question, Craig,” said Ms. Wong, smiling at him. “Class, what do we all think of Wendy’s interpretation?”

Craig sat back in his seat, rereading the poem. It honestly wasn’t too bad. At least it rhymed, unlike shitty Walt Whitman that they’d had to read a few weeks ago. Fuck _Leaves of Grass_ , honestly. He looked at the last couple of lines again. When he looked up, he heard Kyle Broflovski saying something. Asshole. Anyway, he had an opportunity. “Wendy,” he whispered, leaning over to her desk. She wasn’t actually so bad. “What does this mean?” He pointed to the part he meant in her book. “’Till the judgment that yourself arise?’”

Wendy smiled slightly. “The Christian judgment, from the Bible,” she whispered back. “Remember, from Sunday school? In Revelations, when it says the bodies of Christians will rise from the grave and go to heaven? Basically, it’s just another way of saying, ‘Until the world ends.”

“So it means his memory will last forever?”

“Exactly!”

Moving away from Wendy, Craig blinked. He thought about Tweek, and how Tweek was gone and yet not gone. Dead and yet living. How Tweek had changed every single thing about Craig’s life, even after death. Tweek had helped Craig come closer to being the person he wanted to be without existing for anyone but Craig.

Craig wondered who had died first, Shakespeare or his buddy.

“Great discussion so far, guys. I’d also love to hear just what you think of this piece,” Ms. Wong said. She looked around the room, waiting for anyone but Wendy to raise their hand. “Someone we haven’t heard from? For participation points, maybe?”

The class sat in a familiar awkward silence for a few seconds. Finally, against his better judgment, Craig raised his hand.

Ms. Wong beamed at him. “Craig?”

He cleared his throat. “I guess this poem is pretty special, because it’s true,” he said.

“What do you mean by that?” the teacher requested.

Craig looked down at the poem once more. “Well, he says that the guy will live on through wars, and decay. ‘You live in this,’ he says. This poem. Shakespeare promises that he’ll be preserved through words. And it’s true, because here we all are now, talking about him. Shakespeare’s word was good. The kid hasn’t been forgotten.”

Ms. Wong looked ready to burst with excitement at his answer. To be fair, this was probably the most he’d said all year. “Very astute observation,” she said. “Does anyone have a response?”

But Craig didn’t have to sit through anyone else’s shitty _responses_ , because the bell went off, and Craig had his book in his arm and was out the door in two seconds flat.

* * *

“Ruby, did you fuck with the mail?”

Ruby Tucker didn’t bother sitting up from her comfortable slouch on the sofa. She had a belly full of her brother’s delicious cooking, and a _One Tree Hill_ marathon was playing. Best show ever. “No!” she hollered back at her mother. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“OH!” yelled her mother, approaching the sofa with one hand holding the day’s mail and another proffering her middle finger to her daughter. “I guess my daughter thinks she can speak to me however she wants!”

At this, Ruby did sit up, lifting her own hand to flip her mom off. “What’s with the mail?” she asked.

“Report cards.” Laura brought her left hand back to flip through the envelopes she was holding once more. “I’ve got yours, but Craig’s isn’t here. They always mail them together.”

“Why would I take Craig’s report card?” Ruby asked, unflinching when her mom released the bird again. “Maybe he didn’t want you to see it.”

Her mother’s eyes widened at this (obvious, in Ruby’s opinion) explanation and she headed speedily for the staircase. “ _Craig!_ ” she screeched from the bottom of it.

“He’s at the gym,” Ruby said, turning her eyes back to the television. Dammit, a commercial break again. This was a good episode. Bored, she shifted her cleaned plate onto the sofa cushion next to her and slowly stretched out her legs, standing. “I know where he hides stuff. I’ll go find it.”

She darted past her mother and up the staircase, into Craig’s room. If it was in there, and it was bad, she would just say she couldn’t find it. They didn’t always get along, but siblings had to have some form of an alliance against their parents—especially with parents like theirs.

Opening the door, she looked around. What a fucking mess. Boys were so dumb and gross. Ruby was a self-admitted slob herself, but who the hell kept used coffee mugs everywhere? Since when did Craig even drink coffee? She’d never noticed. Glaring at an opened bag of kale chips on the floor, she headed for his dresser, pulling open the drawer Craig apparently thought was a better place to keep unwanted papers than the recycling bin. Dumb and gross, gross and dumb.

As predicted, a ton of fucking crumpled papers were in there. She scooped up a handful, sifting through them slowly. Old assignment, old assignment, bus ticket printout, old assignment…Hm. She paused at two looseleaf pages folded neatly together. Dropping the other papers back into the drawer, she unfolded them. Holy shit, this was a lot of writing. Not Craig’s writing; Craig had never learned how to write legible cursive. Four pages of writing, front and back. Seeing that the first began with “Dear Craig,” she paused to read:

_Dear Craig,_

_Today is such a special day. Do you know why? As I write this, you’re probably at home watching Red Racer. I know you still watch that show, even though you pretend you don’t. Well, I wish that stupid shit would get cancelled, because as you lie on your couch, completely absorbed into some happy fictional reality, I’m sitting at my desk crying like an idiot and writing a suicide note. You see, my love, not everyone can just turn on the TV and enjoy a night of nothing. Some of us spend all day at school getting pushed around by football players—your best friends, actually!—and then head straight to work for six hours, after which comes homework. And after three solid years of this half-life, some of us can’t take it anymore, and we snap. I’ve snapped! Through all of this, I never once felt crazy. I’ve felt plenty depressed, and 99% of the school calls me crazy, but everything has finally become clear to me. You haven’t seen crazy like I’ve been for the past couple of hours. This is crazy, Craig. I’m crazy in love. And that’s why I’m doing this for you. I will be dead within the hour. It’s 10:03 PM as of right now. Just in time for today to become your favourite day._

_I know I’ve been pretty forward these past few years. And I know how much you hate it. But even though everybody told me that it was a lost cause, I was just never able to hide how much I love you. Don’t get me wrong—I feel plenty stupid about this. I would absolutely love for things to be different. Wouldn’t it be great if I was like, well fuck Craig then, and fell for somebody else? A girl, even? It would be super!! But that’s not how love fucking works. So you treating me like crap and getting your friends to treat me like less than crap didn’t change anything. Remember that time you spat at me last year, Craig? In the parking lot? I was trying to remember where I parked, and while I was looking around, I saw you talking to one of your random idiot friends who get to follow you around without getting beaten up for some reason. Anyway, all I did was let myself look for a second. Sorry, but you’re really nice to look at, babe. During the maybe five seconds I wasted on you that time, your friend caught me looking, and you spun around all pissed a second later. Like I even did anything. Do you remember storming over to me? I knew you were mad, but my heart was beating like crazy anyway. I don’t recall the particular form of “fuck off” you yelled at me, but I do remember you literally hawking up a fucking loogie and spitting at me. Now, if the spit had hit me, maybe I would have been embarrassed. Maybe it would have ruined my day. But you noticing me and caring enough to come over just made the whole thing surprising. Not scarring in the least. And that’s the extent to which your discouragement has gone._

_But wow, good thing you have so many friends!!! So many scummy fucking friends. When did you get so close with people like that? I know you’re different, no matter how much you lie to yourself that you enjoy their company. Your friends do have that protect-the-leader thing going for them, though. Is that the appeal? Even so… Kenny McCormick, Craig? ~~Do you know what he~~ Since this is your special day, I am not going to disclose what Kenny McCormick did to me. I wouldn’t want to ruin any friendships, ha ha ha. Although I predict that once I’m gone and you feel comfortable with your sexuality again, you might not be quite as close with your little secret service. Shall we make a bet on it? I give you until Thanksgiving before you’ve completely ditched those idiots. Just kidding about the bet, of course. I will be dead. _

_I will be dead. Wow, I am practically a ghost already. I feel more like a demon. I think I have a fever. Maybe I should wait until I feel better. Kidding again! I know that I’m crazy and I’m crying but somehow I have never been better. I think death really becomes me. Baby, you are so good to me. I wouldn’t be doing this without you. Which isn’t to say I am blaming you for anything. I’m not! This is my choice, police officers who will potentially read this note! I’m just giving Craig his credit where it’s due. Okay, back to you, Craig. Sorry about that. Cops can be so nosy. _

_Craig, this is your special day because I am going to be gone by the end of it. My death is my gift to you. I hate myself and I love you, so this is what I want. But I do believe in karma and I know you do too, so here is my warning. This is the catch._

_One day, you will be mine._

_I will die. But I think I’ll be reborn. And if I don’t earn you in my next life, I will find you in your next one.  I will die a million painful deaths if that is what I have to do to be with you. No one can stop me, Craig. Even God couldn’t stop me. I am killing myself. I lost this battle, but I will win you eventually. You know me, right? I can be so determined. I think I will finally deserve you after this. I will take your heart and we will be together. I don’t care about the timeline. We belong together. I wish you would have seen that during this lifetime. But it doesn’t matter, because fate is fate. I do wish I could kiss you goodbye, though. I wish I could touch you, even if Cartman or some asshole would break my arm for it. I’ll miss the memories we made in this life. Oh well. There’s always the next one. Or the next one._

_Wow, I just looked at the time. It’s almost 10:30!! I better hurry this up, even though I could write to you for hours. Don’t worry, everything is all set up. I’ll be gone before you know it._

_You should’ve let yourself love me while this was easy. But Craig, lover, don’t get too comfy. I’ll be there soon to collect my prize. Nothing will keep me from you._

_XOXO and lots of love,_

_Tweek_

“Jesus Christ,” Ruby muttered to herself. This was brutal. And from that Tweek kid…Ruby had remembered him from when she was younger, always clinging on to Craig. She hadn’t known how to treat him, what with him constantly looking like he thought the world was about to explode. She knew from overhearing her brother and his friends talk about him that the friendship had ended badly, and that Tweek had had a crush on Craig. When Tweek had died, Ruby had heard some people saying that he’d done himself in because of Craig. But…surely her brother didn’t deserve this.

Good riddance. She crumpled the papers in her hands, closing the dresser drawer with her knee. “It’s not in here!” she yelled to her mother. She brought the note with her as she left Craig’s room, shutting the door behind her and crossing the hall to enter her own room. Picking up the lighter from beside the candle on her bedside table, she lit the pages before tossing them into her trash can. Craig shouldn’t be holding on to shit like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could it all mean??
> 
> Sorry the lunchtime with Butters segment ended so abruptly. I was trying to keep the word count down, since it seemed like you guys didn’t like the longer chapter so much. My bad!! I can’t help babbling.
> 
> There are four total chapters left including the epilogue, and I am going to try my best to release them rapid-fire within the month of May, since I know I’ll be super busy this summer. Finals dost swiftly approach, though, so they may come at odd intervals. Or not. Who knows.
> 
> P.S. Have I made it obvious I’m an English major yet?? All about that Shakespeare love. For the record, I don’t think he’s boring at all, though bb Craig does apparently. Or not. Who knows. 
> 
> -Cpt. Essex Cole


	13. I Already Own You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for dubious consent and mentions of rape.

Saturday, Craig awoke to grey daylight. He rolled lazily onto his back and tried to get a view out the window without sitting up. No dice. He groaned loudly. All he wanted to know was if it was raining or not without sitting up, dammit. Was that too much to ask of the world? “Tweek!” he called.

“It’s raining,” Tweek commented serenely as he appeared through Craig’s door. “What do you want, lazy?”

Craig smiled, satisfied. “Nothing, now,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut. Rainy weather seemed so comforting nowadays. Craig used to hate rain. It fucked up the football field, it put everyone in a dreary mood, and it created potholes on his road. Lately, though, he’d formed an appreciation for it. Tweek had pointed out how staying in bed with a hot drink felt ten times cozier when you knew the weather outside was unforgiving, and Craig had had to agree.

Tweek wandered over to Craig’s bed and jumped up. “No plans today?” he asked, pointlessly. They both knew Craig had no friends anymore. Still, it was a nice gesture to ask.

“Nothing but eating a whole bag of pizza rolls by myself,” Craig said. “What time is it?”

“Pizza rolls? You’re usually such a health nut.” Tweek checked the clock on the wall behind Craig’s bed. “And it’s eleven.”

Craig accepted that he wouldn’t be falling back asleep, and he sat up. “Yeah, but I’m still human. And some days you just gotta accept the call of the pizza rolls.” He rubbed at his eyes.

Tweek watched Craig, smiling. “A whole bag, though? You’ll get fat.”

Pulling down the covers slightly, Craig lifted up the hem of his shirt and rubbed an index finger over his stomach. “I won’t get fat,” he said smugly, feeling the bumps of muscles under his skin. He looked up to see Tweek staring, an almost animal look in his eye. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, pulling his shirt back down. He always forgot that there was actually someone who found him attractive.

Tweek was never shy about it, either. “Oh, you don’t have to stop doing that,” he said, laughing when Craig did. He pulled up his own shirt, peering down at himself. “I never had any muscles.”

“Aw. That’s okay.” Craig patted his tummy, which he chose to keep hidden underneath his shirt. “You’re so skinny, though. I remember you never ate a lot.”

“Never a whole bag of pizza rolls, no.”

“Oh, shut up.” Craig got out of bed. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I _will_ be making pizza rolls.”

When he’d returned from said shower, having changed from one pair of sweatpants to another, he threw his old clothes on the floor. “My family’s out, evidently,” he said. “Want to watch Red Racer with me?”

“Sure, best show ever,” Tweek said, rolling his eyes as he got up. Craig chose to ignore the heavy sarcasm in his voice. “Your family is at your uncle’s house, and you look like a douche in that shirt.”

“You look like a douche,” Craig retorted very cleverly.

“Why would you cut the sleeves off of a Snacky S’mores shirt? It’s like…kindergarten frat boy.”

“To show off my killer biceps. Come on, I have to prepare my feast before the marathon starts.”

“Oh Lord, it’s a marathon.”

Craig scowled and turned, thundering down the stairs. “Red Racer marathon!” he said obnoxiously, jumping over the last two steps and darting toward the TV. Leaning over the back of the couch with the remote, he turned it on and flipped to the usual channel. Wait… “Aw, what the fuck?” he said indignantly.

Tweek had come down, but was sitting on the bottom stair. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

After double checking the TV guide to be sure, Craig threw down the remote and turned to look at Tweek. “Bad news,” he said. “The Red Racer marathon got pushed back an hour. Wendy Williams is on.” His stomach grumbled, and he patted it. “But here’s the thing: I’m hungry now. So what I’m saying is, we’re watching Wendy Williams.”

Resting his chin on his palms, Tweek shrugged. “I don’t mind,” he said.

“Great. Go sit,” Craig instructed him. He headed into the open kitchen area, opening the freezer and digging for the bright yellow bag he’d carefully hidden. Yes! The pizza rolls were unopened. He’d figured placing the ice cream tubs in the front of the freezer would deter any midnight snackers from interfering with his precious bounty.

Once a solid 25 starter pizza rolls had emerged perfectly cooked from the microwave, Craig grabbed a glass of water and joined Tweek on the couch. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“Nick Jonas,” said Tweek. He was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, resting his chin atop them. He glanced briefly at the plate of pizza rolls Craig placed in between them, rolling his eyes. “Oink, oink.”

“Lay off the pizza rolls!” Craig told him, popping one into his mouth. He instantly regretted it when the lava of uncooled pizza roll guts burnt the roof of his mouth off, but he chewed anyway on a matter of principle. A photo of shirtless Nick Jonas appeared on the screen and he frowned. “Tweek, do you think he’s cute?” he asked teasingly.

Tweek snorted. “He’s nothing.”

“Nick—are you still a virgin?” Wendy Williams was asking onscreen.

“Jesus Christ,” commented Craig. “Who just asks that?”

“Craig, are you still a virgin?”

Craig nearly choked on cheesy pocket of delight. “Uh,” he said stupidly, scrambling for his glass of water. Awesome, now his esophagus was also ruined, with the bonus of potentially making the moment awkward.  After a moment of franticly gulping down water and considering, however, he decided Tweek could handle the truth. “No.” He peeked over at Tweek, who was still staring at the television. He didn’t seem upset. “Are you? Or …were you, I guess?”

With another snort at Craig’s self-correction, Tweek furrowed his brow. “No.” Another moment of silence went by before he spoke again. “Who did you lose it to?”

“I actually don’t know.” Craig thought back to that night. It was sophomore year, the night of the first football game of the season—and Craig’s first game on varsity. They’d won in a landslide. Craig, being the only sophomore aside from Stan on the varsity team, had jumped in one of the older guys’ cars and headed to a party where the only kids he knew were teammates. Craig had thought he was the fucking king, downing beer after beer. There’d been a girl there, tan, with brown hair and the longest legs he’d ever seen. Somehow, he had caught her attention. Before he knew it, he had been upstairs with her, barely knowing what he was supposed to do, and collapsing when the act was finished. Most of the night’s events were lost to the alcohol he’d consumed, though. “I mean, I never actually asked her name, I don’t think.” He looked back at Wendy Williams. Should he ask? Now he was curious. It’s not like he’d been the one to bring it up. Okay, screw it, he was asking. “What about you?”

Tweek turned his head so that his right cheek now rested on his kneecaps, looking away from Craig. “Doesn’t matter,” he said softly. “It’s not a good story.”

Craig knew he ought to take that as a hint to let the subject lie, but he couldn’t help being curious. “What do you mean?” he asked. “You don’t have to say if you don’t want to, of course.” He looked above Tweek at the window, upon which he could see the heavy raindrops pounding. He wondered if Tweek was ignoring him, or simply watching the rain.

Evidently, it was the latter. “I mean…” Tweek started, looking up again at Craig. “It’s not a nice story. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

The mood in the room had changed, and Craig had started to sense what Tweek meant by the story being unpleasant. As such, he felt now that he had to ask, because it seemed very possible that Tweek had never shared it with anyone. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

Now looking down at his wiggling toes, Tweek’s outline grew more erratic. “It was last spring,” he said slowly. “On a Friday. I was just getting out of work, and someone from school turned up.” He glanced quickly to and away from Craig. “Kenny.”

Craig’s stomach sank. If Kenny was involved, he knew for sure that his hunch had been right about something bad happening. He repeated his question. “What happened?”

“He said he was bored, and that he wanted to go out. He asked me to go.” Tweek hunched his shoulders more. “I said okay, because I’m incredibly dumb. Yes, I am,” he insisted when Craig protested. “Anyway, he drove us out to Denver. To a bar. I guess he must have known someone working there, because we didn’t have fake IDs or anything, but we got in. Kenny said he had planned this for me, and that’s when I realized it was a _gay_ bar.” His eyes closed as Craig looked on in concern. “He kept getting us drinks, and I _thought_ it was just Coke. But I guess there was rum in it, or something else. I couldn’t even taste the difference.”

“Was he drinking too?” Craig asked.

Tweek looked at him and shook his head with a grimace. “I don’t think so, because I started feeling funny, and he seemed fine. I thought I was just really tired. I didn’t know I was getting drunk because I’d never had any alcohol before.” He looked out the window again. “People kept coming up to us—really creepy old men. Kenny would just smile and wave them off. But after an hour or so, I think, he said he had something special planned for me. I could barely keep my eyes open. I realized around then that we weren’t alone.”

Craig bit his lip. “What do you mean?”

“There had been a man sitting on my other side, just by himself. I guess I knew he was watching us, but I had just been trying to ignore him. I suppose Kenny had told him to wait for me to get drunk or something.” Tweek sucked in a sharp breath. “Kenny said, ‘This is my friend, Jim.’ And this guy’s arm was around my waist.”

Feeling increasingly sick, Craig swallowed. His pizza rolls sat forgotten beside him. “Kenny knew him?”

“I can’t imagine how. He said later he was 30, but from looking at him, I’d guess more like 35 or 40.” Tweek paused. “I was confused. I looked back at Kenny, but he was gone. Jim said he’d help me get home.” He shook his head. “I knew he was probably lying, but I figured Kenny had left me alone on purpose. I didn’t have any way to get home by myself, so I didn’t think I had a choice. Anyway, we left the bar and walked for a while. I was trying to keep track of what turns we were making, but I was really drunk, and it’s not like I was that good at directions before…So, we ended up at his apartment. He said Kenny would swing by later, and I could wait for him there. I _knew_ it was a lie. But I was lost.” Now, Tweek was covering his eyes with his palms. “He put me in his bed. He left for a while, and I was trying to stay awake. He was gone for like fifteen minutes, so I hoped that maybe I’d been wrong, and he was just being nice to me. But he came back, and I felt him crawling into bed. He started kissing me…I didn’t tell him to stop. I don’t even know if I _wanted_ him to stop. I was so mad at myself for trusting Kenny, and then leaving the bar, and…I just let it happen.”

“Tweek,” Craig croaked. There was a heat in his chest that he recognized as the pain of futile anger and disturbance. “That’s…that’s…”

“Rape?” Tweek asked, finally moving his hands and looking back at Craig. His eyes were pained. “I don’t know if I’d call it that. Maybe. Sure I was drunk, but I didn’t say no, either.” He exhaled deeply. “I got tricked, and taken advantage of. I don’t know if I feel like I got raped, though.”

Craig wanted to scream that of course it was rape, but he doubted that doing so would make help Tweek in any way. Besides, it wasn’t really his place to tell Tweek how to feel. “How come you haven’t told me about this until now?” he asked. “I just wish… I wish you’d said—”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you were friends with Kenny,” Tweek said. Craig felt this may have been a conversation they’d already had, but he let Tweek speak uninterrupted. “Really, the stuff I went through wasn’t your fault. And I _never_ wanted you to lose all your friends, especially because of me. Craig, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

Craig tried hard not to cringe at Tweek’s apologetic tone. “Well, you’re my only friend now,” he said firmly. “By my choice. I don’t _want_ to be one of them anymore. I should have cut ties with them all sooner.”

Tweek smiled slightly. “Craig,” he started, but Craig shook his head.

“It makes me sick thinking I considered them friends. Especially Kenny. Why would he _do_ that to you, anyway? Like he hadn’t hurt you enough?”

“I have no idea,” Tweek answered ruefully. “He always seemed to hate me the most. Not counting you.” He saw Craig’s hurt expression and shook his head quickly. “I’m kidding,” he said.

“Still.”

“Please don’t start blaming yourself again.” Tweek reached out his hand, stopping right above Craig’s shoulder. He flexed his fingers, and Craig realized his friend wanted to touch him. It was as intimate a gesture as two people who couldn’t touch could share. “I shouldn’t have said anything.

Craig was staring at Tweek’s outstretched hand. “I’m glad you told me,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right if no one ever found out. And I’m glad that you trust me.”

“Of course I trust you. I love you.” Tweek reluctantly pulled his hand back, turning back to the TV.

They sat in silence until the phone rang. Craig was mildly surprised; it was rare that the Tucker family received calls on the landline. Popping a lukewarm pizza roll in his mouth, he pulled himself up over the back of the couch and rolled over, heading for the receiver. He heard Tweek laughing at his stunt and grinned to himself. “Hello?” he asked after picking up the phone.

“Craig. We need to talk.”

Standing up straight, Craig looked over at the couch at the sound of Clyde’s voice. “Uh,” he stalled, running over to the couch and jumping over the back of it. Pizza rolls flew everywhere with the momentum. Tweek was looking at him, confused, as he held the phone between them and pressed the speakerphone button. “About what?”

Clyde sighed, and Tweek seemed to recognize the voice. He leaned back, surveying Craig curiously. “Craig, you avoided us all week, and you’re still not answering texts. Please just meet up with us one more time. It’s okay if you hate us.”

Craig looked at Tweek, who nodded encouragingly. Still, he wasn’t sure. It’s not that he hated Clyde and Token—he knew for a fact that he didn’t. His reluctance to see them was, honestly, more about fear. He didn’t want them looking at him the way they had at Stark’s Pond. Regardless of what they said, he knew they shared some type of opinion about him that they’d never disclosed to Craig. “I don’t hate you,” he said simply. “I just…”

“I know,” said Clyde. “And we want to talk about it with you. Can you come over in a few hours? Please?”

Tweek was mouthing “Do it” over and over. They had a silent argument this way. To Craig’s “I don’t want to,” Tweek mouthed “I don’t care.” For Craig’s “I want to stay here,” Tweek mouthed “Just go.” Finally, Craig cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said aloud.

“Great,” said Clyde, audibly excited. “Just…whenever is great. Whenever you can come.”

Craig reached out and hit the “end call” button wordlessly.

“Good,” said Tweek. “Good choice.”

“I’d rather stay here,” groaned Craig. “What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. Who knows what they even want to talk about? Just speak from your heart.”

“Oh, God.” Red Racer was finally coming on, but Craig barely noticed. “I don’t have anything in my heart to say, either, you know.”

Tweek smiled wryly. “Sure you do,” he said. “Actually, I have an idea. Why don’t you write them a letter?”

Craig scrunched up his nose. He’d never written a letter in his life aside from the thank-you notes his parents forced him to bullshit every Christmas. “Why would I do that? I’m going to see them later.”

“Not to send. Just to get it all out. If you start writing, I bet you’ll feel better.” Shifting to sit with his feet up on the coffee table, Tweek went on, “Butters used to write to his parents all the time—all the stuff he’d never have the guts to say. He said it was very cathartic…Cathartic means kind of ‘therapeutic,’ Craig.”

“Oh.” Craig considered. “You know what? I’ll do it. But not because Butters would think it was a good idea.” He was still annoyed at that little asshole for backstabbing Tweek. “Since you suggested it, I’ll give it a try.” He rose from the couch, ignoring Tweek’s raised eyebrow at the subtle Butters diss. Stepping into the kitchen, he reached for the notebook on the counter that was typically reserved for shopping lists and passive-aggressive notes between family members. He turned the first page, which read, “Hey assholes—rinse your dishes! What am I the fucking housekeeper,” a charmer from his mother, and flipped until he found a clean sheet. Bringing that and a pen back to the couch, he found the remote and turned up the volume. “We’re still watching this, though,” he informed Tweek, who laughed.

Between staring at the TV and arguing back against Tweek’s intermittent jibes about the acting talent on the show, Craig managed to scribble down a few things. Six episodes into the marathon, he was surprised to see that he had a coherent full page. He barely remembered writing any of it. As a commercial break began, he paused to read what he had.

_To Clyde and Token,_

_You guys have been two of my closest friends my entire life. I always felt like we could count on each other no matter what, and that we would always be honest with each other about everything. Even in high school, when people can be so fake, you guys were always real with me. And then out of nowhere, I found out you weren’t. That hurt a lot._

_I know everything has kind of felt different lately. I’ve been going through a lot of stuff that I can’t tell you guys about either, and I know it’s been a real struggle to be my friend. I’m sorry for that. Still, I can’t help but feel like you two keeping me in the dark all this time means that our friendship never really was what I thought. Sometimes I wish we could all go back in time and stop all of this from happening, knowing what I know now. Since that isn’t possible though, I just don’t know how to fix what’s broken here. There’s no denying that things have changed, in some ways for the better and in some for the worse. I understand more about myself and the way I am than I ever thought I had to learn, but it seems like I don’t know much about my two best friends._

_I want to figure everything out, but I think I have to do it in my own way. I don’t think you guys can help me anymore, and I’m sorry for that. I know you want to look out for me, but it’s too late for that. No matter what, I’m so grateful for all of the good times we got to have, and if nothing else, I hope you guys remember me like that, back before everything got too heavy._

He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he clumsily scribbled his name at the bottom. “Tweek,” he said, looking up and holding out the paper.

Tweek, who was slowly becoming a Red Racer fan despite his best efforts to resist, tore his head away from the screen as the show came back on. “You don’t have to show me,” he said in surprise.

“Well, I _want_ to show you, so here,” Craig said. He watched Tweek run his eyes down the paper, reading quickly before looking up and handing it back to him.

“Good,” he said, smiling. “It sounds very real.”

“It is.” Craig reread the letter once more before standing up. “Thanks for the idea. That was indeed very carthretic.”

“Cathartic.”

“Catholic,” Craig said absentmindedly, tearing out the notebook page. “I’ll be right back.” He ran up to his room, pulling out the first pair of jeans he found and putting them on. The Snacky S’mores shirt was secretly his favourite, so he simply threw on a hoodie to cover it up, pulling on his rain jacket over that. With his letter folded in his hand, he headed back downstairs. “I think I’m gonna go now,” he said, standing by the door. “To Clyde’s.”

Tweek looked around the sofa. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait?” he asked, glancing at the window. “It’s raining pretty hard.”

Craig shrugged. “I feel like if I don’t go right now, I won’t at all,” he said. “I’ll drive safe.”

“Okay,” said Tweek, though he sounded a bit worried. He stood up and moved to face Craig from a few yards away. “…I love you, though. Sorry.”

Craig’s hand was on the doorknob, ready to go, but he stopped at Tweek’s apology. “You don’t have to say sorry,” he said quietly. He leaned against the door, turning to look at Tweek. “Thanks for helping me do this. You’re really my best friend. So…I love you too, man.” He bit his lip, hoping Tweek would know what he meant.

The ghost stared for a moment, unblinking. “Wow,” he said. They watched each other for a moment. “You can go,” Tweek said finally. “And don’t worry, I understand.”

Slightly relieved, Craig grinned. “Okay. See you later.” And with that, he headed out the door.

The rain quite honestly sucked, and Craig drove slower than he ever had in his life. (Probably. He had only had his license for two years.) Anyway, he meekly endured a few honks on his way to Clyde’s house. He didn’t have any anger left in him for the day. He’d spent it all on Kenny.

The memories of Tweek’s story took over his thoughts. Jesus, Kenny and his goddamn pedophile friend. Kenny had always been a dick, but what he’d pulled on Tweek was downright sociopathic. He wondered how Tweek had gotten home the next morning. Craig had failed to ask.

Craig had failed Tweek in so many ways. No matter what Tweek said, Crag would always feel responsible for the part he had played in Tweek’s miserable life. Thinking about it hurt, and he was angry at himself for that—who was he to be hurting? His pathetic guilt did nothing for Tweek, and could never compare to what his friend had gone through.

He was upset from these thoughts when he finally reached Clyde’s brown house. He parked his truck next to Token’s car and jumped out, walking quickly to avoid the rain. He let himself in as he usually would, but realized awkwardly after doing so how it was no longer really appropriate. Before he had too much time to worry about it, though, Clyde was thundering down the stairs. “Hey,” he greeted Craig. “Come up.” And with that, he was already turned around and headed back up toward his room. Craig reluctantly obeyed the order.

He entered Clyde’s room with expected apprehension. Clyde’s bedroom itself was the opposite of threatening—the cream-coloured walls were papered with trashy posters of bikini-clad supermodels and an autographed Broncos jersey, Clyde’s most prized possession—but walking in to see the room’s owner on his bed and Token sitting on the floor, both staring at him, was intimidating. He closed the door behind him and waited.

It seemed as though they had thought he would speak first; they were sorely mistaken. Finally, Token swallowed. “Craig,” he started, “you know that we’ve been worried about you, right?”

Craig shrugged. Of course he knew—had Token forgotten about showing up on his doorstep to broach this same subject? “Sure.”

“You’ve been pushing everyone away, and since you found out about…the thing…you haven’t even spoken to us. Butters said you got upset with him, too.”

Too tired to even begin considering how angry the idea of his friends talking about him with that idiot Butters, Craig simply scowled. “Okay.”

Token paused and looked at Clyde, evidently for backup. Clyde opened and closed his mouth a few times before taking the initiative. “Craig, we know this year has been rough on you. But we’re seeing you turn into a completely different person. There’s nothing wrong with change, but it’s the way…I mean, you freaked out at that memorial thing, remember? And it’s like, ever since then, you’ve been avoiding everybody, quitting football, all that. None of the guys know why you suddenly won’t talk to any of them, and we know that started a while ago. We’re all your friends, Craig, me and Token especially, but, like, we want to know how we can help you.”

Craig, still standing, leaned against the door, crossing his arms. “Help me what?” he asked.

“Go back to normal,” Clyde said.

Token looked back at him, startled, before looking up at Craig. “That’s not what he meant,” he said quickly. “Normal is subjective, obviously. You’re normal now. It’s just that changes you’re making and the way you’ve gone about them is worrying. We’re just wondering what happened, Craig.”

At this, Craig nearly laughed. How could they have forgotten? Even without Tweek ever-present in their lives the past couple months, couldn’t they feel his absence at school? He decided to voice his disbelief. “Did you not notice that we drove somebody to suicide?” Token and Clyde’s faces shifted in unison to dumbfounded expressions, and he wanted to hit them for being so clueless. “Well, not you two, so much,” he continued boldly. “You never really participated, though to be fair, you never really stopped any of it, either.” He knew it was a mean thing to say, and not entirely true, but he didn’t care.

Clyde was the first to speak up. “So this is why you won’t talk to any of the guys?” he asked, apparently choosing to ignore Craig’s accusations. “Because of Tweek?” His brow furrowed when Craig shrugged again.

Token decided to chime in. “Craig…Why are you only remembering the bad stuff?” He seemed to falter as Craig glared at him, but went on. “It’s not like anyone spent even a majority of their day picking on…Some horrible stuff happened, yes, but they’re good guys. We’ve all been friends since we were little kids. You don’t care about any of that?”

Craig felt furious now. What an absurd question it was. “The bad stuff cost someone his _life_ , Token. Somebody _died._ Tweek died.” He’d been especially aggravate by Token’s failure to even speak Tweek’s name. Well, fine. Craig would do it. “Tweek is my best friend.”

“He was your best friend years ago,” Clyde protested. “None of us had even spoken since middle school. Except for…well, you know.” Except for instances of cruelty.

“You think I don’t know Tweek?” Craig asked loudly, bounding forward a few steps. The rage he’d begun feeling at Token’s declaration that people like Kenny and Jason were _good guys_ swelled. “I know him way better than you could ever understand.”

When Craig had shot forward in Clyde’s direction, Token had scooted backwards on the floor. Now, he stood up to face Craig head-on. “Craig, why are you wearing his sweatshirt?” he asked roughly.

Looking down, Craig realized he was indeed in Tweek’s sweater again. Putting it on earlier, he hadn’t even noticed whose it was. He looked up again, still scowling. “He gets me too, Token. More than you ever did.”

Clyde slid off the bed to join the group. “Why do you talk about him like he’s still here?” he asked Craig, his voice conveying a tinge of desperation and worry.

Knowing he had slipped up, Craig was annoyed with himself. They thought he was crazy, he was sure of it. But his anger at their insinuations that he was somehow in the wrong for daring to feel guilt for what he’d done outweighed his self-consciousness. They could think what they wanted. Tweek knew who Craig was, and he was the one whose opinion actually mattered.

He backed away and reached behind him for the doorknob. “If you guys want to pretend like nothing happened, fine,” he spat. “But it’s harder for me to forget, okay? I killed someone.” Feeling the cool porcelain in his hand, he turned the knob and wrenched open the door. “I killed someone,” he repeated. Saying the words aloud, he realized how fervently he believed them. This was all his fault, after all. He needed to see Tweek again. He needed to apologize, even if he’d already been forgiven.

Craig heard his name being called as he quickly headed for the exit, running down the stairs and out the door. He fumbled with his key, finally forcing it into the ignition as Clyde and Token appeared at the front door, clearly determined to stop him. He slammed his foot onto the gas pedal, though, and was able to quickly get back onto the road toward his house despite the continued rainstorm.

He drove dangerously through the precipitation; his prior caution completely forgotten. _Craig_ had killed Tweek. He knew it. Only seeing his friend could calm the thunder of his heart beating in his chest. He craved forgiveness to quench his remorse. He was itching for love to drench his self-hatred.

Reaching his house, he parked carelessly in the driveway. He ran up to his front door, clumsily unlocking it and bursting into the building. “Tweek?” he called, stepping eagerly inside without even shutting the door behind him.

There was no answer, and upon checking the couch, Craig realized Tweek wasn’t downstairs. Forgetting entirely about the door, he ran up the stairs in his wet shoes, a crime his mother would punish him dearly for later, approaching his room. “Tweek?” he called again, throwing open the door.

But Tweek wasn’t there, either.

Confused, Craig looked around stupidly. It didn’t make sense. Tweek was always here. Backtracking slowly, he left his room and quietly shut the door again. He peered into the bathroom—no one. Increasingly panicked, he looked inside his parents’ room, followed by Ruby’s. He went back down the stairs and looked around the open area. “Tweek?” he yelled frantically.

Still no answer.

His heartbeat grew steadily more erratic as he slowly approached the front door, closing it before looking around again. Somehow, he knew this wasn’t some type of prank.

“Tweek?” he begged one more time.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …?  
> Thanks to everyone who’s been reviewing, I’m having a rough time lately and it really warms my soul to read your comments. The next chapter is going to be really fun, please be excited!


	14. An Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because it's important, please keep in mind that November 19th corresponds with chapter 12.

**_September 27_ **

The sky was still a cloudy red. The immediate surrounding terrain was still flat and filthy, with black dust rising at the slightest movement. The heat was still constant, radiating through the atmosphere so that it penetrated every molecule of everything living or otherwise. The sound of screaming hysterics still lingered undisturbed, so infinite that it was impossible to distinguish from which direction the shouting originated.

The setting was unchanged. But Tweek slowly noticed that he was no longer alone in his spot by the burning tree.

He considered doing nothing. Since his arrival, he had been spared from much personal interaction. Demons roamed around freely, predictably instigating as much fear and suffering as possible. Sometimes they possessed the bodies of former humans, greeting these humans’ newly deceased loved ones in costume only to violently attack them. The demons derived much enjoyment from this activity especially, but did not limit themselves—it was not uncommon for Tweek to observe them appearing suddenly in their natural forms before children, laughing when their victims cried. Nothing could be done to assuage the children’s fears, so it was often that frustrated adults fell to their knees, begging for God to take mercy.

…God? Even sitting in hell, Tweek didn’t believe there was a God.

Anyway, thus far Tweek somehow hadn’t been approached by any of these demons. No parentless kids came running to him for comfort, either. He spent his days beneath the blackened skeleton of what could have been an oak tree, the branches of which were perpetually aflame. He liked listening to the crackling branches as he watched the goings-on in the particular section of hell he occupied. There was no discernible day or night here. He didn’t count the minutes or hours. His mind was kept busy thinking constantly of Craig.

Tweek knew there wasn’t a God because if there was, he would have sent Craig to Tweek. It was common sense.

Noticing the presence behind him hadn’t moved away, he assumed that it was some evil spirit. Fine, he would endure whatever torture was intended for him. He wasn’t afraid. He didn’t care at all.

But when he turned his head, the angular black shape of the demons he recognized did not greet him. Instead, he saw who he presumed to be the Devil himself. Enormous in size, his skin was a blood red brighter and sharper than that of the sky. His yellow eyes stared from beneath a pair of horns; his muscles bulged in a shape that could never be mistaken for a human’s. As Tweek’s eyes travelled downward, he saw the Devil stood on not feet, but a pair of hooves. Still, he was unperturbed. He waited for creature to speak.

“You’ve been here for a while, kid.” Satan slowly approached Tweek as he spoke. “How old are you, actually?”

“Seventeen,” Tweek said dully. His chin rose to maintain eye contact as the Devil drew nearer. He couldn’t help feeling slightly curious, if only slightly.

Now beside Tweek, Satan fell into a crouch. “Young,” he commented. When Tweek said nothing, he went on, “I’ve been watching you. You don’t seem scared.”

Bored again, Tweek looked back to the scene a few miles away of a demon beating an elderly man. “I’m not,” he said. “Just disappointed.” He surprised himself by voicing this.

“Disappointed with what?” came the Devil’s reply.

Tweek thought. How could he explain the bitter frustration that dwelled in his stomach, keeping him cool amidst the flames that surrounded him? “I just didn’t think it would turn out like this,” he said finally.

Satan chuckled and Tweek’s eyes narrowed at the sound. Still, he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t anything anymore. “What did you think would happen if you killed yourself? Thought you’d go to heaven?”

“Of course not.”

“Well then?”

“I guess I didn’t think there was an end.”

After a few moments, the Devil hummed. “Humans can’t comprehend the idea of an eternity in one place,” he said. “The concept is beyond the human brain. But I get the impression you had some sort of plan.”

Tweek nodded, watching the demons in the distance bludgeon the man with what looked like an amputated human arm. “I was going to win him,” he said.

“Oh? Who?” Satan squinted off in the direction Tweek was staring. “Not that guy, right?”

“No. My soulmate.”

“Soulmate!” Satan laughed openly. “You humans and your ‘soulmate’ thing. You really believe in all that? Listen, kid, there’s no such thing as a person who isn’t going to disappoint you.”

Mildly irritated, Tweek looked back at the Devil. “I wouldn’t disappoint Craig,” he said.

Satan surveyed Tweek with interest. “Alright,” he said. “You think he’d never piss you off to the point you could scream? You think he’d never call you names, cheat on you, use you for sex when he came home angry? You think he’d love you as much as you love him?”

“He could do all those things and it wouldn’t mean he didn’t love me, and I would love him even more,” vowed Tweek. The man in the distance lay in a crumpled heap. The demons, bored, wandered off to seek a new target. “You don’t know him the way I do.”

“Sure,” said the Devil complacently. “What was your name again?”

“Tweek.”

“Interesting.” Satan finally sat, his hooves splayed out before him. “Tell me about your Craig, Tweek.”

Tweek blinked slowly. There was no way to completely describe Craig, of course. He was a natural leader and he wasn’t at all aware of it. The other kids flocked to him, serving him in every way they could. He commanded attention everywhere he went, but he didn’t even need it. All Craig ever did was take on responsibility. He had learned how to cook for his sister’s sake in sixth grade when his parents’ fighting prevented them from caring for their children. He had mowed the lawns of South Park’s elderly community every summer without compensation since eighth grade, influencing his friends to help since ninth. He had come up with the ideas for and coordinated their class’s yearly fundraisers since freshman year. And throughout high school, he had not only been an asset for the football and baseball teams, but had also helped coach the elementary school hockey team. All of this he did without being asked, and all of it he did without noticing he was extraordinary.

Most importantly, of course, he had protected Tweek from every perceived danger imaginable during the years that they were friends. Not that Tweek was the only one who had benefitted from their friendship, of course: they were good for each other. While Tweek needed someone holding his hand, reminding him that the world could be okay sometimes and that good things could happen to the tiniest, most worthless people, Craig had enjoyed every second of making life feel safe for Tweek. Just because Craig led by nature didn’t mean he didn’t get off on it. Through terrified eyes, Tweek had seen the smile evident in every act of Craig’s mercy for his sake. He knew there had always been an unspoken understanding that they needed each other equally.

That beautiful majority of their lifetime that Tweek hadn’t been able to let go of—how could he let go?—replayed over and over in Tweek’s mind as he sat beneath this burning tree. Every memory that had kept him alive for three miserable years now fueled his disappointment. He had been _so sure_ that killing himself wouldn’t be the end. But now Craig was further from him than ever.

He voiced what he could explain of this to the Devil. “He made living possible,” he finished. “Without him, all I could do was die.”

Satan seemed very interested in Tweek’s ramblings. “He sounds like an angel. I was an angel once,” he said thoughtfully. “…You know what, Tweek? I like you.” When Tweek didn’t answer, he added, “I’ve been watching you, you know. I told my demons to keep away. I was pleasantly surprised at how inscrutable you are. Do you know your facial expression hasn’t changed once that I’ve seen? And I’ve been watching for a few weeks.”

Weeks. It had been weeks. While surprised by this information, Tweek still didn’t much care. “There’s no point without Craig,” he stated.

Laughing again, Satan said, “You remind me of myself. You’re so idealistic. I’m happy to see I was right that there’s something different about you.” Tweek merely shrugged again. “And as it stands, I have a proposition.”

Tweek looked back into the Devil’s eyes. “What’s that?” he asked.

With an evil grin, Satan said, “I want to make a deal. This Craig? I like the sound of him. I want to steal him.”

“So? What’s the deal?”

“If you can bring him to me, I will let you have him.”

“What does that mean?” Tweek pressed.

The excitement at Tweek’s piqued interest showed on the Devil’s face. “Let’s be realistic, Tweek. Craig never loved you the way you wanted him to. But if you bring him to me, I can make him think however it is you want him to. What I’m saying is, you two can finally _be_ together.”

“What does ‘bring him to you’ mean?” Tweek questioned again.

“I can’t kill him. You can’t kill him. But maybe you can convince him to die.” Satan watched Tweek significantly. “Bring him here, and he will be yours. Forever.” He paused, considering. “Oh, and I can promise my demons won’t come after either of you. You two could live in my palace.”

Tweek’s heartbeat picked up. “You’re asking me to hand Craig’s soul to you?”

Viciously, the Devil laughed once more. “Yes, I am.” He smirked. “Of course, the catch here is that you would be ripping Craig from his life and sacrificing him for your own happiness. He has the potential for a lovely future on Earth, and maybe even later in heaven… _Then again,_ say he dies prematurely without any intervention, and he ends up here instead of heaven anyway? He’ll still hate you, and you’ll see him being tortured for the rest of eternity.” With this, Satan rose to his feet. “To get this done, I would give you…let’s say until Christmas, to make it a challenge. What do you say?”

Tweek weighed these options. Soon, he looked up. “Okay.”

“I knew you’d make the right choice,” said Satan, and he proffered his hand.

Tweek too stood, the first time he’d done so in weeks, to shake it. “What will it be like?” Tweek asked. “Will I be human again?”

“Of course not. You’ll be more like a ghost than anything. You’ll be tangible at will. And invisible to everyone but Craig, of course.”

“Do I have to disclose that to him?”

Satan’s eyes widened with glee. “No,” he said excitedly. “You can withhold information or lie as much as you want.” He reached out to ruffle Tweek’s hair. “You really are something, son. I’m very excited to see what you can do.” He looked over his shoulder at a destination Tweek couldn’t make out. “Oh, and you can’t touch him.” Looking back at Tweek, he smiled for the last time. “I’ll give you a week to prepare.”

As the Devil walked away, Tweek leaned against his tree. Finally, he thought, he was getting what he deserved.

* * *

 

**_November 19_ **

“Tweek! How good to see you, son.” Satan smiled warmly as he approached the blonde boy, who reciprocated appreciatively. “I’ve been watching over your progress. Very impressive.”

While Craig was out, Tweek had decided to pay his new home a visit. He was tired of keeping his excitement to himself. Things were really happening. He could hardly believe it himself. “I think he’ll be joining us soon,” he said with a wicked grin. “He’s lost all his friends. I’m all he has.”

Satan laughed. “How did you manage it? And in such a short time, too.”

Tweek smirked and held out a couple pieces of paper. “It all started with this,” he said. “I knew he hadn’t read my suicide note. So I wrote a new one.”

Taking the pages, Satan began to read. “Dear Craig… You don’t understand what love is… _Your eyes are so beautiful…_ ’Such is love’s transgression?’” He and Tweek joined in laughing raucously. “Oh, man. Where did you come up with this?”

“I knew he’d believe I’d written it! He only read it after I taped it to his door, too, the bastard. He threw this in a drawer and I’ve been hiding it since. He never even noticed the real note is still in there.” Tweek snickered. “I love him, but he doesn’t notice a thing, I swear.”

The Devil clutched his stomach as his laughter increased. “I saw you finding the picture under his pillow. Jesus…This is out of a movie or something. He’s lovesick!”

Tweek snickered. “I have something better. So, I told him other people would be able to see me, right? And he just believed me right away. Well, I started making appearances”—he giggled—“and he thinks he’s going crazy! I just played dumb and fell for it completely. But,” he said impressively, his eyes glimmering, “one time I showed up at his football practice on the sidelines. I just wanted to watch and thought I’d get some fun out of it. Anyway, he tells me later that he saw me in the face of one of his teammates. _I didn’t do that_. That means he really saw me.” As Satan nodded in awe, Tweek let out another short laugh. “He quit the team!”

“Stop!” Satan roared, now clutching his sides. “You can’t be serious!”

Tweek nodded vehemently. “I swear! He loves me again, I can feel it.” He waited for the Devil to stop laughing. “He wears my sweatshirt all the time. I just wish I could touch him.”

Satan smiled. “Well, soon enough, you’ll be able to touch him all you want. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you.”

“Soon,” Tweek said determinedly. “He’ll be here soon. I have a plan.” He glanced at the distant outline of his burning tree. “I should go back, though.”

Shrugging and turning to leave, Satan answered, “Well, I believe in you, kid. And I hope for your sake that you’re right.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we know how it all started...How do you feel about Tweek? Has your opinion of him changed? Who are you "rooting" for? How do you hope the last chapter will end? I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Until next time (the last chapter before the epilogue),
> 
> -Cpt. Essex Cole


	15. Symptoms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, leggo!

_“Just come on. It’s really not that big of a deal.” Craig pulled at his scarf a bit, trying to choke himself less and warm himself more. He shrugged his shoulders against a cool wind. “You’ll be warmer when you’re moving, you know.”_

_Behind him somewhere, Clyde and Token were already part of the swarm of other kids skating. In front of him, however, a terrified Tweek was quivering, too nervous to step onto the frozen pond. “I can’t,” he squeaked._

_Craig was not rolling his eyes. He was simply looking away, and the direction he had chosen was up. He didn’t know how Tweek had managed to live in Colorado for eleven years without learning how to ice skate, and also wasn’t sure how this had never come up, as Craig had also lived in Colorado for eleven years and been friends with Tweek for most of them. He had invited Tweek to come ice skating along with Clyde and Token without a second thought, and hadn’t noticed any more reluctance than usual in his friend’s voice over the phone. But Tweek had arrived in not just a ridiculously large beanie and what could have been his dad’s old jacket, but also in knee pads (likely his mother’s idea). “You can,” he groaned. “Why do you even have skates if you don’t know how?”_

_“I don’t know! I think they were my dad’s or something! Er…gah!” Tweek exclaimed. Clearly he’d had time for a cup of coffee before coming over. The panic in his glances toward the pond, coupled with the knee pads and enormous pom-pom atop his hat shaking back and forth as he searched for an escape from the situation, would have been hilarious if Craig hadn’t been itching to get out there with the other kids._

_“Just come here,” he sighed. He was impatient enough not to snicker at the clumsy one-foot-in-front-of-the-other balancing act Tweek performed to approach him._

_“I’m scared,” he said sincerely._

_“I know. Just hold on to my arm, okay?” Craig turned around to face the rest of the pond. To their credit, Clyde and Token had detached themselves from the crowd to come a little bit closer to them, watching. He flipped them off. They had taken off as soon as it became clear Tweek couldn’t skate, knowing that Craig would inevitably stay behind to help him. He looked back at Tweek. “One foot at a time.” He offered his arm._

_Tweek still looked uneasy, but he reached out to grab Craig’s elbow, clumsily stepping onto the ice with his left foot. He looked up at Craig, who nodded, before slamming his right foot on the ice. “Ngh!” he cried._

_Craig’s knees bent naturally to accommodate Tweek’s motion. “Good,” he said, pointing. “Balance on that foot. Push off with the other one.”_

_A few yards away, Clyde and Token were shouting encouragement. Craig planned on punching them later. Still, the noise seemed to give Tweek confidence, and he did as Craig said. “Oh my God!” he whined as they glided forward._

_At this, Craig finally laughed. “You did it,” he said. “Try on the other side.” Tweek obliged, and together they moved forward another few feet. “See? It’s not so bad.”_

_“It’s…I like it,” Tweek admitted. His death grip on Craig’s elbow lessened slightly. He kept at it with awkward strides, and together they finally reached Clyde and Token._

_“Good job, Tweek,” said Clyde._

_“Try holding on to Token,” Craig suggested. Tweek did so, and before the realization could wipe the smile off of Token’s face, Craig had sped off, faster than Red Racer. Looking back at them, he saw Clyde laughing and skating away as Tweek nearly collapsed on Token. Craig, a natural on the ice, turned to skate backwards, raising both middle fingers in their direction before zipping into the mass of his classmates._

_God, he felt free._

Craig sat up straight as he awoke. “Tweek?” he called. He waited a few seconds before slumping back into his pillow. No answer. Tweek hadn’t returned.

He picked up his phone from the corner of his headboard to check the time. 2:47 AM. Ever since he had noticed Tweek missing, Craig had kept his phone on him at all times. It wasn’t rational—it wasn’t like he expected a call. Still, he felt more vigilant having it with him, even though he’d lasted over a month without it.

He’d waited for hours, hoping that Tweek would show up. After all, Tweek had been busy with something, right? But he grew less expectant with every tick of the clock. As every hour went by, his heart sank a little deeper. To worsen the distinct sense of loneliness, his brain had been playing reruns of their friendship all the while.

The ice skating memory had been a dream, though. Somehow, he had fallen asleep, if only for an hour or so. He got out of bed and went to wash his face, pretending he wasn’t hoping to see Tweek waiting outside his bedroom.

Back in bed, he pulled his legs to his chest, leaning against the wall. Could he sleep again? He didn’t know how he’d managed it the first time. Still, his eyelids felt heavy…

_Grains of rice scattered across the kitchen, and Craig stared down at the mess. He scanned the floor, sizing up the damage, and his gaze ended at the uneven cuffs of Tweek’s jeans. “Hm,” he mumbled._

_“Oh Jesus! Craig, I’m so sorry! I went and m-messed everything up! I was trying to help!” Tweek groaned. His face was bright red when Craig looked up at him, and his eyes were wet with frustration. “I shook the bowl too much,” he uttered miserably._

_Craig nodded absentmindedly. He wasn’t angry, but he was thinking fast. The bag of rice Tweek had dropped had been the last of it, as far as he knew, and now he needed to think of something else he could make to go with the teriyaki chicken he was about to start browning. “It’s okay,” he said first—assuaging Tweek’s guilt was the priority—before an idea hit him. “Okay,” he said again, “Tweek, go open the cabinet and look for a bag of noodles. It should say ‘shirataki.’” While his hands were still clean, he dumped the perfectly cut chicken into the skillet, nodding to himself at the sizzling sound. He loved that noise because it meant food was happening._

_He stepped over the brown grains that covered the floor around him and grabbed with his right hand the broom that leaned against the frame of the kitchenette; with his left he picked up the neatly brewed cup of coffee from the single-serving machine on the counter. When he turned back to Tweek, who had thankfully found the noodles he’d requested, he had to smile. “You just walked all over it?” he asked, setting Tweek’s coffee on the island and sliding it to him. With his free hand, he lazily turned over the pieces of chicken in the pan._

_“Yeah,” said Tweek sheepishly, throwing a longing glance at the coffee. He handed the bag of noodles to Craig before lifting up one of his feet, bowing his head to eye the bits of rice that had sunk into it. “I was trying to hurry. I wasn’t thinking. Ngh, sorry.”_

_After putting another pan to heat up on the stove and tending to the chicken again, Craig picked up the broom he had set aside. “It’s okay,” he repeated. He turned toward Tweek, who was comically helpless. Sweeping most of the mess into a pile, he knelt. “Lift your feet up,” he commanded._

_Above him, Tweek was looking away as Craig grabbed hold of his right foot, using his hand to gruffly scrub the rice off of it. “I didn’t mean to ruin dinner,” he said, still morose._

_“You didn’t ruin it,” said Craig, now lifting Tweek’s left foot to brush off. “This will be even better. Just drink your coffee.” Finished, he stood and turned to the sink to wash his hands before dumping a fair portion of noodles onto the clear frying pan._

_With permission granted, Tweek timidly grabbed the mug and downed nearly all of its contents. “Can I help you with anything?” he asked._

_Craig, facing the stove again to nurture his chicken and noodles, was trying not to laugh. “Just keep me company,” he said. He whistled in self-satisfaction as he poured the sauce he’d prepared into the pan with the noodles. “That’s helping.”_

Again, Craig’s eyes flew open. The room was light. “Tweek?” he asked, just in case. He peered at his phone. 6:58 AM. His parents would have driven Ruby off to school by now on their way to work. He considered getting dressed himself, but the idea of facing school—facing everything—knowing Tweek was gone forever was overwhelming, and he slumped deeper into his blankets.

He realized he was clutching Tweek’s sweatshirt. How long had he had this with him? He didn’t remember the last time he’d picked it up. Without thinking, he pulled it closer to his face and sniffed. The scent of Mocca Java was nearly gone; Craig himself had worn it too much. Annoyed with himself, his face crumpled and he inhaled deeper, desperate for these last traces of Tweek.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t known Tweek would have to leave someday. But for some reason, Craig had assumed that he would have some warning before this happened. A chance to say goodbye, at least.

But would things really be different if he’d said goodbye? What was the last thing he’d said, anyway?

…He remembered. “I love you,” he’d said. He had done it without thinking. At the time, he hadn’t seen anything wrong with saying so. After all, Tweek had been the only one to even try understanding him for months. He hadn’t implied that Craig should be trying to _go back to normal_.

It seemed, then, that this had been the mysterious “mission” Tweek had mentioned. What, to get Craig to say it? It’s not like he was in love with Tweek. What kind of stupid mission was that, then? And further, the whole thing was cruel. Just unfair, really. Why would Tweek agree never to see Craig again after hearing what he’d wanted to hear? Wouldn’t that hurt him more?

It hurt Craig, if he was being honest. More than the aching of his entire body, the amalgam of exhaustion and disbelief that kept separating him from sleep while confined to his bed like an invalid, the idea that Tweek had known that no good could come of their encounter and had accepted the chance anyway, if only to see Craig for a little while longer, _hurt_.

Wherever he was, Tweek was probably just as wrecked as Craig. He was probably in some pit of fire somewhere—no. Craig forced that thought away. It was too real, now, and he couldn’t face it.

He lay still as time passed. So this was what it was like to be completely alone. He didn’t have anyone to confide in, to seek encouragement from, to complain to. How could it be that Tweek had played the role of therapist, motivational speaker, and teammate so well that Craig couldn’t fathom how he’d made it to senior year without him? But now this person, this extraordinary person, was gone. And though Craig had to remind himself that he’d always technically been gone, one foot out the door into the afterlife, it hadn’t been until now that he had to confront this.

His phone beeped and he turned his head to stare down at it. Token wanted to know if he was okay. Well, no, he wasn’t. And two hours had gone by.

Exhaling, he rose. Contact. He wanted contact. He strode to his dresser and pulled out the junk drawer. Craig hadn’t read Tweek’s letter since the first day he’d shown up. He tore through the mess of papers within, unfolding every sheet. Where was it? He knew he’d put it in here. Blood rushed to his face as his panic increased. How could it not _be_ here?

When every single paper from inside the drawer had been inspected and tossed aside onto the floor, he fell back. The letter was gone, or else he had lost it. He was _so sure_ he had put it in the drawer. Frustrated and bitterly disappointed, he put his head in his hands.

_He sank into the couch. “It’s not fair,” he declared angrily. “How can they call themselves parents? They barely know we exist.”_

_Craig had barely made it to school on time because his father, who had the day off from work, had decided to sleep in. His seven-year-old sister, Ruby, had been snapped at when she tried to wake up him to request a ride. When she came to Craig in tears, he had been so angry he could barely stand it._

_Listening patiently, Tweek watched Craig from the left. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I-I wish I could help.” He actually had helped—when Craig had called him in the morning, he’d gotten his mother to pick up Craig and Ruby and drive them to school. Additionally, he’d listened to Craig’s ranting about various grievances with his parents all day. He reached out and tugged at Craig’s sleeve; a wordless signal. Every time Craig’s problems with his parents came up, they would go to Tweek’s after school, where Craig would lay his head in Tweek’s lap as he complained. “You need to calm down,” he said softly as Craig lay back._

_Glaring at the ceiling, Craig said, “It’s funny when you tell me to calm down.” He didn’t mean it rudely, but seeing the look on Tweek’s face, he apologized. “I just wish I didn’t have to deal with all this. I wish your mom was my mom.”_

_Tweek smiled slightly. “She could be your mother in—”_

_“Hello again, Craig,” said Mrs. Tweak brightly as she entered the living room. “Good thing we got you to school on time!”_

_“Yeah,” said Craig politely, lifting his head. “Thanks again.”_

_“Oh, it’s no problem at all, honey,” she assured him. “You know that anytime you need my help, you can call.” Her smile was tight, and Craig wondered what she knew or had assumed about his parents. He nodded, and she said, “Well, I’m off to the grocery store. I’ll pick up some snacks for you boys.”_

_They said “Bye,” in unison, and Craig leaned his head back again. He was exhausted from hatred, and he covered his face with his hands._

His eyes opened to stare at the paper-littered floor through his fingers. Had the flashback been a dream, or was he awake? Craig couldn’t tell the difference. He had realized something from it, anyway: at the time, which was during the last year of middle school, he had thought Tweek had said, “She could be your mother in…,” before being cut off, and he had wondered back then what Tweek had been about to say. It occurred to him now that he may have been trying to say, “mother-in-law,” and he kicked away a pile of nonsense pages in irritation.

Still, he had also realized how much he could use another visit with Tweek’s mom, and now that he thought of it, he could hardly keep himself from running down the stairs to find his car keys. Would she even want to see him? No less than any other day, he supposed—it wasn’t like she knew her son had disappeared for good. (Again.)

Head pounding, he stared drowsily at his bed. He knew he shouldn’t even be driving when he was this tired, and it was only…what? Ten?

With another quick assessment of the papers strewn everywhere and confirming that none of them were Tweek’s letter, he reluctantly returned to his bed and climbed in. Having promised himself he could go to Tweek’s house later, he curled up and slid his eyes shut.

 _Tweek was frowning at him. “You don’t_ have _to do anything, but it can’t hurt you to apply to a couple schools. Just in case.”_

_Craig looked back down at the envelope, addressed to him from the University of Colorado at Denver. “I just really don’t feel like this is what I want to do.”_

_“Well, what do you want to do?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_With a sigh, Tweek said, “What if you realize you want to go to school in the spring, though? When it’s too late to apply anywhere? You might figure out what you want to do by then.”_

_It was November, and Craig had been receiving letters from random universities for a month or so. He figured his high school had put him on some sort of mailing list—he was an average student at best; surely no school would seek him out—but lately, he couldn’t imagine leaving South Park at all. Who would take care of his sister? And besides, there wasn’t anything he felt passionate about. “What if I just want to be a mechanic in South Park forever?” he asked, looking Tweek in the eye._

_“Do it with a degree.”_

_Craig shook his head. “I’m not even good at anything! What am I supposed to do in college? Just major in business and hate my life for another four years?”_

_Tweek frowned. “Do you hate your life now?”_

_“…I don’t know.” He realized he shouldn’t have said it. “I guess not, but the point is…if I don’t have any plans, what should I do?”_

_“Take advantage of the fact that you’re young and have a long future?” Tweek suggested._

_Craig paused again, his stomach sinking. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Tweek was, in reality, dead, and would never have the chance to go to college. Dead because of him. “If you could, where would you want to go to college?”_

_“University of Washington,” Tweek said right away. “I wanted to be a social worker.”_

_“A social worker?” Craig asked, surprised. “Why?”_

_Tweek looked down at his crossed legs. “I wanted to help kids,” he said. “If I could change the world or just one kid who thought he didn’t have a chance, then that would be enough.” He snorted. “I guess I wouldn’t have been the most positive example, though. Maybe it’s for the best.”_

_“Don’t say that,” replied Craig, his guilt intensifying. “You would have been great at it. You changed my life.” Tweek didn’t say anything, so he continued. “You know, your mom thought you would be a good journalist. Or a doctor. I guess she knew you would have helped people, too.”_

_Now, Tweek looked in slightly better spirits. “A journalist?” he asked disbelievingly. “Oh my God. Why?”_

_Craig laughed. “She said you were very inquisitive.”_

_“Ugh.”_

_“She was raving about you.”_

_“She was a good mom.” Tweek’s smile faded. “I think my biggest regret is hurting her. I just…I wasn’t thinking about her at the time I, well…I feel like I ruined her life.”_

_There wasn’t a great way to respond to this. Instead, after an awkward pause, he changed the subject: “I wouldn’t mind helping other people, too, I guess. I just can’t see how I would.”_

_Tweek shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Craig. You spend almost all your time doing something for someone else, but you don’t even notice yourself doing it. I mean, everybody adores you for it. Aren’t you volunteering on Thanksgiving again this year?”_

_Typically, eager to get out of his house and away from his family as soon as possible, Craig would help out at his parents’ church on Thanksgiving. On that day, it served as a shelter and soup kitchen. For the past few years, he’d been volunteering as one of the cooks and food servers as soon as his own family’s nightmare feast concluded. “Yeah.”_

_“Well, that’s only one of a billion things that you do. You could even put volunteering on college applications, you know.”_

_Craig scrunched up his nose. “Isn’t that kind of tacky? I don’t do it for credit. I kind of do it for my own benefit, too.”_

_“Still, you do it. Most kids don’t.” Tweek looked away, and his eyes landed on Craig’s lifting shoes, a ratty pair of Converse, in the corner. “Or hey, you’re a health nut, too. What about that? You could be a physical therapist, or a dietician, or even a personal trainer or something.”_

_Still doubtful, Craig turned his head to see what Tweek was looking at. “I guess,” he said, but he wasn’t convinced. He looked back at Tweek and saw his friend’s face had fallen._

_“I just don’t want you to run out of options because you sell yourself short,” Tweek said sadly. “You’re really special, Craig, and you could do anything you want successfully if you just try. I know it.”_

_Though he truly couldn’t imagine what Tweek was seeing in him, Craig admitted defeat. After all, he knew deep down that Tweek was right, and he would have to find something to do with himself. And Tweek wouldn’t be here forever to cheer him on._

_Plus, Tweek didn’t even have the option of applying or not applying. His chance had passed._

_“You know what?” he said quietly, picking up the envelope in his lap and trying his best to look at it with interest. “You’re right. I’ll just fill out a few applications. Just to see.”_

_He wasn’t excited about filling out a million papers, but the excited smile that lit up Tweek’s face at his declaration seemed well worth it._

His eyes opened as he awoke, unsurprised that he had dreamt of Tweek again. He checked his phone: a little after 6:00 PM. It was late enough that he could give himself permission to go to Tweek’s. He called out for his friend again, just to see, but had already swung his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. He changed clothes, knowing he looked a little worse for the wear. Still, he knew Mrs. Tweak would be happy to see him, and he left his house without much further preparation.

Driving, he put music on for the first time in a long time. Recently, he’d typically enjoyed silence during car rides, allowing himself to just think about life. Today, though, he needed the distraction. Whenever he thought about Tweek, his heartbeat seemed to speed up; he recognized the sensation as panic. Craig held out hope that maybe it wasn’t all over just yet. As long as he kept Tweek out of his mind, he could pretend that everything was alright.

 _Alright_. He pulled into the Tweaks’ driveway. The lights were on, he observed from the passenger seat, and it seemed Mrs. Tweak was home. As he switched off the engine of his truck, he noticed himself shaking. He needed to see her. Maybe even Tweek’s room, if his mom would let Craig up. Finally, he got out of his car and approached the familiar doorway, knocking when he reached it.

A minute later, the door swung open. “Craig,” Mrs. Tweak said warmly. Her eyes had lit up and Craig’s stomach turned. She didn’t even know anything had changed. “It’s good to see you again, dear.”

“You too,” he breathed honestly. Her brow furrowed and she seemed to sense that something was wrong. Before she could ask, Craig asked, “Can I come in?”

Mrs. Tweak paused, looking over her shoulder. “Ah…Well, Craig, I’m not sure if that’s—”

“Craig?”

From inside, Craig heard Mr. Tweak’s voice. He hadn’t seen the man in years; Craig wasn’t a Harbucks drinker and had avoided the Tweak family to the best of his ability throughout high school anyway. Even while he’d been friends with Tweek, Craig barely ever saw Tweek’s dad, as his dedication to his Harbucks franchise typically kept him out of the house until long after it was time for Craig to go home. When he was around, Craig’s interactions with him had been very brief; polite if a bit awkward. Richard Tweak gave off the air of a man who never knew quite what to say, and his constant exhaustion evidenced by the omnipresent bags under his eyes had always made Craig feel as though maintaining conversation with the man was robbing him of precious minutes during which he could be sleeping.

Now, though, at Tweek’s front door, no hint of fatigue permeated Mr. Tweak’s voice. Rather, Craig was alarmed to hear what sounded like anger. His suspicions were confirmed when Mr. Tweak appeared at the door, wrenching it all the way open to stand beside his wife. His fixed an injuring glare on Craig, who stuck his mittened hands into his pockets to make himself smaller. “Hi, Mr. Tweak,” he tried finally.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mr. Tweak spat.

Beside him, Mrs. Tweak was looking anxiously at her husband. “Richard, Craig—”

“Get back inside,” Mr. Tweak ordered. With a nervous glance at Craig, she backed up a few steps into the house. “Why are you here?” he demanded of Craig again.

Craig started wishing for his coat; he’d left it behind in his hurry to get here, forgetting how piercing the cold winds of late November could be. Tweek’s sweatshirt wasn’t enough to protect him from the cold weather combined with the iciness of Mr. Tweak’s apparent hatred for Craig. “I…I don’t know,” he said lamely. “I came here a couple times—”

Mr. Tweak looked back inside, presumably to confirm with Mrs. Tweak whether this was true, before staring back at Craig. “I don’t care what you’re here for,” he seethed. “You think you’re welcome here? After what you’ve done to my family?”

“I just—”

“You just think you’re entitled to doing whatever the hell you feel like after killing my son!” Mr. Tweak roared. He took a step toward Craig, who backed away. “You ruined his life and now he’s gone, forever! I’ll never see my boy again because of what _you’ve_ done!”

“Richard!” pleaded Mrs. Tweak from inside the house. Looking around Mr. Tweak, Craig could see that she was crying. As the wind blew against his face, he realized that he was crying, too.

It was true, after all. Tweek was really gone for good. And no matter what had happened between them while Tweek was back on Earth, none of it mattered now, for now Craig was alone to weather the pain of his absence. Furthermore, there was no doubt that he was indeed responsible for Tweek’s suicide in the first place. It was all his fault.

He backed further away from the door.

“I never want to see you around here again,” Mr. Tweak was hissing. “You are nothing but scum. Do you see how many lives you’ve ruined? My son was seventeen years old. I’ll never see him graduate high school. I had to _bury my child_ and you got away with everything you did! You don’t deserve to live while my son is buried in the ground!”

Mrs. Tweak was calling out again, but all Craig registered was static. He felt the streams of tears down his face freezing in the cold as he nodded blankly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely before turning tail and running to his car. He knew Mr. Tweak wasn’t finished yelling, but he knew he had to go. Quickly, he pulled out of their driveway and left.

What had he expected? Nothing could have changed. At the end of the day, Tweek would always be gone. He had filled up Craig’s life for close to two months, and now Craig felt his absence in every muscle. He was driving, he didn’t know where, but it wasn’t toward anyplace he knew. The previous day’s rain was freezing in the evening’s early onset cold, but as Mr. Tweak’s contentions rang in his ears, he barely noticed his car slipping as he sped down unknown roads.

  _“Oh, Jesus Christ. Here he comes.” Cartman turned and smiled knowingly at Kenny, who laughed. “Oh, Lord. Craig, you got your chastity belt on?”_

_Craig smiled as he picked out a salad from the available lunch options in front of them. “Shit,” he said. “Can we get this line moving any faster? Personally, I’m not trying to get hit on right now.”_

_“Poor baby,” said Kenny. “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you from the big bad wolf over there.” They moved forward and paid for their lunches, laughing to themselves as they glanced back at Tweek in line behind them._

_Craig headed toward their usual table, where Clyde and Token were already eating. Cartman was right behind him. “I’m not saying he’s a stalker, but he’s already got new keys made for the next time Craig changes his locks,” he said loudly. Their table was close enough to the lunch line that it could be trusted that Tweek, now paying for his food, could hear every word. The other guys at the table laughed._

_“I’m not saying he’s a freak, but you only need to steal so many locks of hair before you can make your own wig and be done with it,” put in Kevin Stoley, referencing an old favourite joke about Tweek’s obsession with Craig’s hair._

_“I’m not saying he’s a fag, but if you stuck your dick up his ass and left it there for a while he wouldn’t be too mad about it,” snickered Kenny. Cartman roared with laughter as the other guys at the table all turned in their seats to look at Tweek, snickering._

_Craig was simply looking down at his food. “That’s fucking gross,” he laughed. “How am I supposed to eat this now?”_

_To his left, Token was frowning. “Can you not yell that stuff?” he asked. “We’re going to get in trouble.”_

_“That is some black ass bullshit,” Cartman declared, setting the other guys off laughing again. “Here in America, we have free speech, Token. Aw, fuckin’ hell. Go directly to the exit,” he commanded. Craig looked up to see Tweek walking towards them, his eyes turned downward and his face red. “Do not pass Craig’s table. Do not collect Craig’s sweet ass.”_

_They were all laughing again, even Clyde snorting a little bit, and Craig looked back down at his food. Jesus Christ, if only all this could be over. Thank God it was finally senior year._

Coming back into his own consciousness, Craig realized how far away from home he was. He was on a back mountain road, speeding through poorly-lit roads lined with looming evergreens. He knew he was still crying as memories of actions throughout high school played back. That scene in the cafeteria had happened two, maybe three days before Tweek’s suicide. Before all of this began.

“ _God!”_ he yelled aloud in agonized frustration. He hated himself immeasurably. Tweek was in hell, where the pain was probably even worse than this. Innocent Tweek, who had done nothing wrong. Tweek, who had been pushed around, teased, isolated, and even tricked into sexual assault before having to kill himself to escape it. If only they could start over. Or if Craig could just have a little more time with Tweek’s ghost.

He’d told Tweek he loved him. Hearing it from Tweek had lifted his spirits time and time again. He didn’t crave romantic love, but the implicit forgiveness that accompanied it. Love said, “I understand you.” Love said, “It’s all okay.” But now, Tweek had faded back into nihility.

Craig looked at his passenger seat. Tweek was staring back at him. “Were you ever even here?” he asked.

The mirage of Tweek simply stared.

“Did I imagine all of this?” Craig choked.

Unblinking silence.

Craig glanced at the road. Looking back at his passenger seat, he saw the image of Tweek had vanished.

He was crazy, wasn’t he? All this time, he had been crazy.

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut before staring back at the winding road. The undeniable truth was that Tweek was dead and gone, and the underlying truth to this was that his blood was on Craig’s hands. This was the weight Craig would carry for the rest of his life.

He couldn’t bear it.

 He wondered if Tweek was watching as he sharply jerked the steering wheel, spinning his car off of the road.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And there it is. From here you are free to imagine whatever ending you would like. If you’re interested in what I have in mind, please anticipate the epilogue, to be posted in couple weeks’ time (sorry for the delay, I’ve been working two jobs!). If not, let me know what ending you have in mind for Craig! Is he alive? Dead? Does he ever recover?
> 
> Wow, I could waffle on and on about this story for ages. If I wrote up a little blurb about the thought that went into it (along with pictures, etc) of all my research/extra materials, would anyone be interested? I might just throw it together on a little tumblr page or something just for fun. I’ll let you all know if I end up doing so.
> 
> So much thought went into every page of this, and I really hope you guys enjoyed what I put together. It’s crazy to think that I started this story five years ago and I’m only just now finishing it. Thank you to everyone who has played along with me, since this story has been pretty emotional. It really blew my mind how many of you were willing to share your thoughts with me, and I’ve really appreciated it. 
> 
> The upcoming epilogue is actually what inspired this whole story, so I hope some of you are interested in reading it. I hope you’ll be pleased with the ending, and if not, I hope you’ll tell me why! We’ll talk about this later, though. Arg!
> 
> -Cpt. Essex Cole


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read at your own risk!

It had been a month since Craig Tucker had killed himself. Well, almost a month. The next day, Christmas, would be the official anniversary. Knowing they wouldn’t be able to get away from their families on the actual holiday, however, Token and Clyde had planned to visit his grave on Christmas Eve instead. They slipped out of the church after the midnight mass had ended, letting their parents know they would be home soon.

The whole town had been sombered by the events of the school year thus far. Two suicides within months of each other were a tragedy South Park had never seen. There was no way the school district could get away with it, and the high school was still under investigation by some board of directors none of the kids had ever heard of. While all of their teachers were being scrutinized (a few well-liked ones had admitted to their classes that the entire faculty faced the threat of being fired), a new grief counselor had been hired to combat the notion that all Park County students were severely depressed with no one to seek help from.

No one, aside from Clyde and Token, knew that Craig would never have seen a counselor even if a decent one had been available. Nobody knew anything about what had happened, really. The story had been picked up by the local news—while Tweek’s name hadn’t originally been released, Craig had not been a minor, and with his name in the press Tweek’s soon leaked out as well—and gone viral across various social media platforms with the help of Park County students who hadn’t known Tweek at all and had barely known Craig. The most-shared post on Facebook told the story of poor Tweek, an innocent gay youth, and his secret boyfriend Craig, who had like Juliet followed his star-crossed lover into a premature grave. Even the football team who had known the truth about Tweek and Craig throughout high school began whispering amongst themselves about whether or not it was true that the two had secretly been fucking the whole time.

South Park loved gossip, after all, and this story was a juicy one. Still, Token and Clyde were disgusted by the way the townsfolk relished the whole event. Sure, students and parents alike all cried at Craig’s funeral (a closed-casket affair) and vowed to stay vigilant, watching for warning signs in their friends and families. But they didn’t even know how Craig had suddenly become a different person. They hadn’t even noticed. Meanwhile, Craig had pushed his closest friends away in spite of their best efforts. It wasn’t like they hadn’t tried to help.

This knowledge didn’t make them feel any better, though. They were still “the best friends” who got stared at in the cafeteria and while gaining thousands of new followers on Twitter.

Their own feelings and confusion aside, however, nothing overcame the intense pain that filled their stomachs when they had heard the news. Craig had been so close, after all. They felt they should have pushed harder. They should have held him closer. They should never have let him leave Clyde’s house that day.

And so it was regularly that they visited their friend’s grave. Tweek’s family had never told anyone where their son was buried, but it wasn’t in South Park, for which they felt grateful. Once upon a time, Tweek had been their friend, too, but it was hard to ignore the idea that Craig’s obsession with Tweek’s death had inspired his own. There was no evidence for this, but they couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Cold out here,” grunted Clyde unnecessarily. Token nodded in agreement and paused just outside the church to zip up his coat. Snowfall had come early this winter, and several feet of it had already built up in the church’s backyard, which opened into the cemetery. Undeterred by frozen toes, together they waded through the snow towards the back left corner.

As they got closer, though, Token stopped. Clyde did the same a few steps ahead. “Do you see that?” he asked lowly.

“Yeah,” murmured Token. “Who are they?”

“It almost looks like—”                                                                                                                                                                 

“Yeah.”

What they saw were two backs turned to them, standing hand-in-hand in front of the headstone they knew was Craig’s. One figure, blond, wore only a blue t-shirt. The other, with dark hair, wore a navy hooded sweatshirt. Both appeared to be male. The blond’s hair was wild in a familiar way that had prompted Clyde to double-check that he wasn’t dreaming.

Clyde turned around to look at Token and they wordlessly agreed to continue forward. Their curiosity quickened their paces. Rapidly approaching the tombstone, Clyde called out, “Hey!”

And like something out of a horror movie, Tweek Tweak turned his head to stare at them.

Token and Clyde stopped short, having come about ten feet away. They watched unnerved as Tweek turned around, pulling the second figure with him by the hand.

“What the fuck is this?” asked Token hoarsely. He nudged at Clyde as if to confirm that the vision was real; as far as Clyde knew, it was, for he saw the same thing. Tweek and Craig, holding hands, their entire images faded as if out of an old newspaper, stood watching them. Tweek, whose outline was shaking eerily in a way that simply could not be human, smiled pleasantly. Craig just stared.

“Is this a dream?” asked Clyde. He didn’t know who he was asking, but the figure of Tweek answered.

“No.” The look on his face seemed more smug with each passing second. “Craig wanted to visit.”

“…How is this possible?” Token tried. He looked at Craig. “You’re dead.”

“We’re ghosts,” answered Tweek. The grin never left his face as he looked to Token. “Spooky, huh?”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Token whispered in response.

“False,” rejoindered Tweek. “Craig and I didn’t fake our deaths and you’re not dreaming, Token. It just so happens that I was given permission to come back from the afterlife for a while.” Looking at Craig, his smile grew. “Actually, it’s not my first time. I spent a couple of months alone with Craig, you see. While he was alive, I mean.”

Clyde’s mind was racing and he tried to stay calm. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he argued. “We never saw you.”

“As you wouldn’t. I was only visible to Craig back then. But now that he and I are, you know, in the same boat, I thought it would be nice if you could see us. I figured you would be here.” Tweek looked back at Clyde and Token, who were shivering from both the cold and the fear. “You guys are so loyal. I mean, not to me, ever. Ha ha.” His smile faded slightly. “But Craig could always count on you. Lucky for me, he didn’t. He trusted me more than you.” The grin returned. “He loved me more than you.”

“Wait,” said Token. “Did he—did you go to heaven? Is there a heaven?”

Tweek tilted his head. “There is! But I went to hell. As did Craig.” All three of them looked at Craig, who was still silent. “Let’s just say he wanted to be with me.”

“No way,” put in Clyde. “He didn’t love you like that. Right, Craig?” Receiving no answer, he looked impatiently at Tweek. “Why isn’t he talking?”

“…He doesn’t talk much,” said Tweek slowly after a pause. “He doesn’t need to. He has me.”

“What did you do to him?” asked Clyde angrily.

Tweek’s eyes narrowed and he finally frowned, glaring at Token and Clyde. “I didn’t do anything, thank you very much. Craig is very safe with me. Safer than he was with you.” Lifting his free hand, he rubbed Craig’s chest affectionately. “I love you,” he said to him quietly.

“I love you,” repeated Craig immediately, as if reflexively.

Clyde and Token were startled to hear Craig’s voice. It was dull and somewhat muted, as though they were hearing him through a bad phone connection. “Did you make him say that?” Clyde demanded.

“No,” spat Tweek, looking back at Clyde. “He fell in love with me. I told you.” Before Clyde or Token could answer, he went on irritably, “He got to know me again when I came back. He _realized_ we belonged together. That’s it!”

Token was watching Craig intently now. Craig was looking between him and Clyde repeatedly. With his brow furrowed he looked slightly frustrated, as though he had something he wanted to say or couldn’t quite put his finger on where he had seen them before, and Token felt an immense sadness. Putting aside the absurdity of the idea that ghosts might be real, his lost friend was right in front of him, and yet wouldn’t say anything. (Or, perhaps, couldn’t say anything.) The left side of his forehead was dark, as if bruised, which made Token sicker—Craig’s mother, in the hospital after the fatal car crash, had told them the official cause of Craig’s death was blunt force trauma. Could it be…? He grimaced.

Meanwhile, Clyde and Tweek were still glaring at each other. “That’s not Craig!” Clyde yelled. “Look at him! There’s nothing in his eyes, Tweek!”

“You’re just confusing him!” Tweek snarled. “He’s _happy_ when he’s with me. When’s the last time either of you saw him happy? You can’t even remember, can you?”

“We’re his best friends! We actually cared about him, unlike you, who just wanted to own him.” Clyde’s face was bright red, typical when he was angry. “You honestly think he’s better off dead?”

Tweek  scowled. “Not dead, but with me. And to be with me, he had to die. It was his decision. _I_ didn’t kill him; I couldn’t even touch him back then.” He gripped Craig’s hand firmer and the latter looked at him again, which made Tweek smile slightly. “Now I can touch him all I want, though.”

At this Clyde, fuming, bolted forward a few steps. To his and Token’s surprise, however, Craig moved in front of Tweek defensively. He didn’t look angry or threatening, but simply gazed at Clyde with the same perplexed expression Token had noticed. “What, you make him act like your security guard now, too?” Clyde demanded.

With a snort, Tweek answered, “Oh, please. You knew he would do that, if you ever knew him at all.” He pulled Craig back, saying quietly, “It’s okay.”

Token spoke again. “That’s not love,” he said carefully, “it’s instinct. You know that that’s not him anymore, don’t you?”

Tweek turned his frown to Token. “No offense, Token, but you don’t know shit about our situation.” He leaned his head on Craig’s shoulder with a mocking grin. “You know what, Craig?” he said. “I think I’ve heard about enough of this. Are you ready to go home?”

Clyde and Token looked on helplessly as Craig nodded silently. He never took his eyes off of them as Tweek pulled him away toward the pine trees that bordered the cemetery. Eventually they disappeared.

“Jesus Christ,” said Clyde, and he fell to his knees in the snow.

Token moved closer to the headstone marking Craig’s grave. The back of it read, “Life is the toughest course you’ll ever race,” a Red Racer quote, but Token was focused on the base of the headstone. From his pocket he retrieved a small candle and a lighter, which he placed atop the cement, removing the last candle they had left. He paused before lighting it. “Do you think that’s what he meant in the suicide note?” he asked quietly. “Stuff he couldn’t tell us about?”

After a brief pause, Clyde fished out the looseleaf page that had been found in Craig’s totaled car. Craig’s parents had given it to them, the clue that had led the police into ruling the accident a suicide. Squinting in the darkness to reread the words he had nearly memorized, he choked, “I don’t even know if this is a suicide note, now.”

The two fell into silence. There was nothing they could do for Craig now, and both knew it well. Their only hope was that the whole thing had been a shared hallucination, but this seemed even less likely than the idea that Tweek had chosen to spite them by returning with Craig. Honestly, even as kids, Tweek had always been hateful in a way that was hard to catch unless you really knew him. Craig had never seen it, or at least claimed not to when they’d brought it up in middle school. Still…ghosts?

Pained but not knowing what to believe, Token lit the candle. He and Clyde watched the flame flicker for a moment but left quickly; usually, they would stay and talk about everything that had happened. Now, this place felt tainted. The air seemed colder.

At the cemetery gate, Token and Clyde turned for one last glance at the distant sight of the burning candle. They hoped desperately that there was some light for Craig where he was.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh! That was a long voyage, mateys. I'm in kind of a hurry to post this now, so I will keep this quick and maybe update later (probably not, I be a lazy pirate!).
> 
> If you are interested in reading about the background/conceptualization of the story and my final thoughts on it, please check out essex-cole.tumblr.com. This blog is the home of the waffling I mentioned last time around. It is a lot of nonsense, but I felt good sharing it. Over there I will also be periodically updating with various bits and pieces that helped me put all of this together, including photographs of real-life humans who represent the main characters to me, more details about characters, and more stuff that probably no one cares about but I just want to release!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading, sharing, and communicating with me. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story as a whole now that it's done. Thanks everybody!
> 
> -Cpt. Essex Cole

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reposting from FF.net. I began this story about five years ago, let it sit untouched for a while, and have recently returned to it with the determination to finish it. This version will have some names changed and references updated. I hope the message will resonate with someone. Thank you for reading!


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